


Charming the Darkness

by cheweybaclava



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angst, Asshole Theo, Brazilian Folklore, Encantados, Epiphanies, Multi, Mythical Beings & Creatures, Nightmares, Oblivious Stiles, Original Character(s), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pack Dynamics, Pack Feels, Post-Season/Series 04, Slow Build, Spark Stiles Stilinski, Theo Raeken is part of the pack, UST
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-09-04
Updated: 2016-03-14
Packaged: 2018-04-18 21:03:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 13
Words: 60,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4720358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cheweybaclava/pseuds/cheweybaclava
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>For once in a long time, things are going well for Stiles. Beacon Hills seems to be free of any new unwanted supernatural beings, Malia and Stiles are working out well, the pack is almost like a normal pack. And Stiles found a ten dollar bill in his back pocket.</p><p>So why is it, that just when everything is close to perfect, fate decides that Stiles has had too much luck.</p><p>Why is it, that Stiles feels his stomach twist uneasily when Derek puts his arm around Braeden, and she snuggles in happily?<br/>Why is it, that Malia is acting more and more distant when Stiles befriends the new Spanish girl in his Calculus class?<br/>Why is it, that the surprise, unwanted supernatural being in Beacon Hills has their heart set on killing Stiles.</p><p>And where did that ten dollar bill go?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Crashing from the High

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys! So this is my VERY FIRST sterek fic! It's a bit sketchy so far, but i'll be updating as much as i can and hopefully it will start to shape up.  
> Slightly mellow fic, and additional tags WILL BE added on as time goes by. Innocence with diminish, and in it's place with be some hardcore fanfic. But for now, enjoy some PG and I hope you guys like it! Please comment and tell me your thoughts!
> 
> -Gobi

The sunset really is a beautiful thing. A contrast of colours blending in with each other. Rays of pinks, burnt oranges, faded yellows. Each mixing together, mesmerising any set of eyes that would have the pleasure of admiring such an image. Clouds faded to neutral colours, and the sky seemed to die down. It was like the world was actually relaxing, and this is how it showed its calmness.

 

Stiles drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, explaining all of this to Malia. Her responses almost seemed borderline mono symbolic, but Stiles was in too good a mood to care. His girlfriend obviously couldn't be less interested in his mindless ramble, but it didn't strike him negatively. He only gazed fondly whenever she rolled her eyes, or sighed dramatically. There was no point in getting upset over something so small. Today was shaping up to be one of the most flawless days all year. It was one of those days where you woke up to your alarm, but managed to smile when turning it off. Stiles didn't know if it was the sun shining through his window, the fact that troubles like Kate, Berserkers and Benefactors were behind them. Or maybe it was finding a ten dollar bill in his pocket this morning that seemed to brighten up his day. Whatever it was, Stiles had managed to leave the house with a smile, survive through school, battle lacrosse practice, and head over to Derek's loft with Malia for the recently introduced "pack night”.

 

“Earth to Stiles? Hello? You just missed the turn,” Malia's voice snapped him out of his daze, and Stiles swerved into a U-turn, commencing a chorus of horns to honk at him.

"Sorry," Stiles apologised bashfully, "Guess I've just got Friday night blues," Malia raised an eyebrow, missing the joke.

"Is that a book or something?"Stiles barked out a laugh, shaking his head in response. His girlfriend never fully understood any of his references, being an animal for eight years, but that only made Stiles love her that little bit more. Their differences were what set them apart, yet kept them together. Chalk and cheese, but still two peas in a pod. Almost.

It didn’t necessarily help that Malia undoubtedly wore the pants in the relationship, but maybe that was just her intimidating exterior.

"Oh Malia, your ignorance is entertaining," Stiles joked, turning into the loft. A small scoff came from the passenger seat, and a head turned away from the glass, peering out of the window.

He parked Roscoe, vaguely noticing other vehicles occupying spaces. Stiles felt that all the cars seemed to match their drivers. Lydia's blue Prius C was elegantly parked next to Scott's bike. Derek's Camaro stood by the front of the building, sharp and sleek, yet intimidating and superior.

 _Much like the big bad wolf, himself_ Stiles thought with a chuckle. He switched of the engine and hopped out of his Jeep. Slamming the door shut, he ran over to Malia's side, bowing down as he wrenched the handle open.

“Milady," Stiles grinned, offering a hand. Small, mindless antics, yet he knew how much Malia loved them. She took his hand, but for some strange reason avoided looking him in the eye.

 _She doesn't want to me to see her blush_! Stiles gave Malia a single peck on the cheek, still holding her hand. She stiffened, looking visibly uncomfortable, peering down at their clasped hands.

"Uh, we're just going inside Stiles," Malia said uneasily, taking her hand back. She hurried off towards the building, leaving Stiles slightly dumbstruck in the parking lot. Was it something he'd done? Thinking about it, Malia had been acting slightly standoffish all day. Must be a certain time of the month.

Shaking his head, Stiles travelled inside, thoughts buzzing inside his head as he climbed up the stairwell. His fingers traced the washed out banister, skimming over chips and dents.

“Derek really should do up the place,” Stiles muttered as he reached the top. The door to the loft was already wide open, and he could hear the chatter of werewolves coming from inside. Grinning, Stiles bounced in and was met with a choir of greetings. Lydia was curled on the sofa, her shoulder resting against Parrish’s chest. Gorgeous, strawberry blonde hair fell in a cascade of curls over her back, and Parrish was running his fingers through, kissing the top of her head. Scott and Kira were on a ball on the floor, squealing and lying on top of one another. Some process of a tickle match was happening, but they were enjoying themselves to no end. Stiles vaguely made out Malia talking to Braeden in a hushed voice, who was nodding solemnly. She frowned when Stiles came in, but it was quickly replaced with a friendly smile.

“Stiles! Glad you could make it,” Braeden said, glancing hurriedly at Malia before walking over and enveloping Stiles in a hug. It came by surprise, but Stiles being naturally cuddly was only fazed for a few moments. He soon wrapped his own arms around Braeden, giving a tight squeeze before letting go and peering around the room.

“Where’s the Big Bad,” Stiles asked, smirking at the nickname.

“He’s teaching Liam some stuff about control,” Kira answered, from the floor. Her hair was slightly bedraggled, sticking up from all directions, but her eyes were gleaming. Stiles would never get over her similarity to a fox. She was unwillingly mischievous, even if at first she seemed like an absolute cinnamon roll. Maybe that’s why Scott was so enchanted by her.

“Oh, cool,” Stiles went over to where Lydia and Parrish were on the sofa, stretching his legs out.

“Congratulations, on the co-class presidency,” Lydia said smugly, looking over at Stiles, whose face broke out into a grin.

Earlier on today, the two of them and been called in and told that they were officially co-class presidents. Lydia was the obvious option, but Stiles hadn’t realised that teachers saw him in such a light. It was really the icing on the cake, if nothing else. Good things were just building up in front of him, and nothing was even _trying_ to knock it down.

“Congratulations to you too, my dear,” Stiles nodded, beaming at her. They still might not always see eye-to-eye, but the two sure would make a kick-ass team when it came to working together.

“The pizza here yet?”

Stiles whipped his head around to see Derek enter with Liam trailing behind him. The two looked slightly satisfied, and Liam was clutching an old leather binder in his hands.

“You ordered pizza?!” Stiles piped up, folding his arms over his chest, trying to seem offended. “Without _moi_?”

Derek shot him a smirk, and went over to Braeden, wrapping his thick arms around her waist. She looked over and smiled at him, while he gently placed a kiss onto her neck. While it was nice that he finally had someone, someone he could trust, Stiles couldn’t help a strange, uneasy feeling clenching in his stomach.

_Must be hungry._

“Did anyone bring movies?” Scott asked, getting up from the floor. He brushed himself off, and then reached down to pick Kira up, slinging an arm over her. She nestled into his shoulder, looking up adoringly.

“I did,” Lydia said, revealing a box from her purse.

“The Notebook, Lydia? Really?” Malia scoffed from the other side of the room, trudging over to the seats and slouching into an armchair. She laid her forehead into her palm and sighed, strands of hair falling over her face.

“Why don't you find something on Netflix?” Derek suggested, still holding onto Braeden. “Just make sure it’s nothing Nicholas Sparks, because I’m not spending any more money on removing mascara stains from my cushions,”

                                          

 

Which is how they all ended up curled into one another, watching Sherlock. Empty pizza boxes littered the floor, and stray popcorn kernels were scattered across the room. Happy snuffles were heard throughout the room, and everyone was snuggled up. Braeden sat wedged next to Derek on an armchair, Scott had Kira leaning on his left, and Liam on his right. Lydia and Parrish possibly hadn’t moved the entire evening, just changing positions every couple of hours.

Malia was nestled besides Stiles, but she was unusually stoic. Her back felt stiff, and her eyes kept on wandering away from the screen. Stiles noticed her fingers were shaking slightly, quivering on her lap. He reached out and gently placed a hand over them smiling. Malia drew her arm away, though, reacting like Stiles had just poured boiling hot water over her fingers. Stiles’ brow knitted in confusion. What was with Malia today? She was always happy to cuddle with him on pack nights. Hell, if there was ever a competition for spooning, they would win first, second and third place.

“Something up?” Stiles whispered in her ear, nudging the shell with his nose. He meant for it to be soothing, but Malia moved away from him and off the chair.

“I, uh, I’m going to, uh, go outside for a minute,” she mumbled, and then shuffled away towards the balcony without looking back.

All eyes were fixed on Stiles now, ignoring Forest on the screen.

“What was that?” Scott asked, gesturing towards the windows, where all you could see was Malia poised back. Braeden was looking worried, eyes seemingly wide and anxious.

“I’ll check on her,” Stiles muttered, leaving the confused pack and walking outside.

 

The wind hit him with a force, and Stiles hadn’t expected it to be this cold. Malia was visibly shivering, and neither of them had a jacket, so Stiles wrapped her in a bear hug. She didn’t try to resist, but she still felt stiff.

“You going to tell me what’s wrong?” Stiles suggested, resting his chin on her head. He felt her sigh underneath him, and took that as an answer. “Right then, if you’re not going to talk, I will. How would you explain the relationship between Sherlock and John? Are they just partners or is there something more, something _deeper._ I'm all for two guys getting it together, and the sexual tension between them- whoa. But they're so close, it's kinda like they -,”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Malia interrupted, stepping away from him, “I’m breaking up with you,”

 

 

~~~~~

The rest of the night was seemingly a blur. Stiles didn’t remember Malia’s rushed explanation, or Scott’s worried face, or Derek trying to stop him from leaving. He didn’t remember driving away in his Jeep, or going into his house. It was only once he was upstairs, leaning against the door, did reality hit him.

 

Malia broke up with him. He had just been dumped. Why? They were working out so well, everything was going smoothly. Stiles was finally in some sort of relationship. With a girl. A _hot_ girl. Whom he liked. A lot. Did he love her? Stiles thought he did. He’d mentioned it to himself quite a few times. But never to Malia. Did she know how he felt. Did she even feel the same _way_?

Stiles banged his head against the door, groaning in despair. How had he not seen this coming. Of course Malia didn’t love him. Why would she? Someone as gutless as Stiles. It was clear Stiles was more advanced in certain aspects of their relationship, but Malia really did have her pick of the crowd. Skinny, defenceless Stiles was a laughable choice compared to someone else she could have. Someone else being literally _anyone_ else.

 

Stiles phone buzzed from his pocket, for what seemed like the hundredth time that night. It had been going off the entire journey home, but Stiles wasn’t focusing enough. He now slipped his hand inside his pocket and pulled out his phone. 8 missed calls and 23 unread text messages. Most from Malia, several from Scott, and a few surprisingly from Derek. Stiles opened up Malia’s messages first. There must’ve been loads of sympathetic ones, or kind. Maybe even apologetic texts. But the first message Stiles saw read

 

**Malia: For God’s sake Stiles! Just anser ur fucking phone and stop being a dick**

 

Stiles shook slightly when he saw that, and he tried to compose himself. It was just a text. It didn’t mean anything. He should just stay calm.

Stiles probably could’ve kept it together, of the very next text that came up hadn’t said

 

**Malia: this should’ve happened a long time ago**

It was obviously out of context, but at that moment, Stiles was too riled up to care. With a yell, he threw his phone across his room with as much strength as he could muster. Then winced when he heard several smashes.

Looking up, he noticed a large crack in his mirror and phone lying face down. Getting up and walking over, he gingerly picked it up and turned it over. Countless of pieces of glass fell down, and the screen had a dent the size of a large grape.

 

And just like that, all the good luck that had been building up so perfectly, fell to the ground with a large, metaphorical _thump._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WELL? How was it? I'm mega nervous because im scared you're going to hate it but i don't really know if you will and if you do this is literally going to be the end of me because fanfic is positively my LIFE and im rambling so I'm going to shut up now.  
> Not much Sterek in this chapter, but it WILL build up, i promise. For now, watch Malia be a bitch to our poor baby.  
> (super Derek will save the day soon!)
> 
> -Gobi


	2. Weaker Every Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You should just stick together from now on. Try to stay close to another member of the pack. It wouldn't help the situation if one of you ended up dead,”  
> “Why would we end up dead?” Kira questioned, with a look of justified suspicion.  
> “Well, maybe because there have been four killings ever since they arrived,” Peter responded casually. “Did I leave that out?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! I can't believe you guys like it! I'm still really shaky on fanfic, but the amount of hits I got was a lot! THANKS SOOO MUCH!  
> Anyway, here's chapter two!

Saturday’s were always a good day for Stiles. He slept until noon, ate a makeshift brunch of whatever artificial meats he found in the fridge (Stiles had to stay on top of his dad’s diet), then spent the rest of the day either hanging out with the pack, or cooped up in his room with a video game, comic or some amusing video on YouTube about a cat playing the piano.  
Not this Saturday.

Stiles awoke with his face planted into his pillow, still fully clothed, and a trail of dried up saliva sloping down his cheek. With a bleary glance at his alarm, he registered it being 14:54, the numbers flashing in red. Letting out a groan; he rubbed his hand over his face, wiping away the spittle.  
He didn’t want to get up today. Memories of yesterday flashed in Stiles’ head, and he grimaced in embarrassment. Why had he left? He couldn’t have calmly talked it through with Malia, discussed their differences, hugged it out, and left saying “we’re just going to be friends,”  
No, cause that sort of shit only happened in movies. This was Stiles’ fucked up life. And it now seemed that the universe had decided to make Stiles’ fucked up life a misery. It started out as Romeo and Juliet, and ended up with Juliet shooting Romeo in his head several times in a row. With his own gun. Then getting Murcutio to impale him with a knife. And ending with Tybalt planting a Molotov Cocktail bomb (thanks Lydia) inside one of his drinks.  
Well, you know what they say- Hypothetical Shakespeare’s a bitch. 

Stiles let out another groan as he swung his feet out of bed, curling his toes into his carpet. The house seemed quiet, so the Sheriff must have left for work. This should’ve effectively been a good thing. Stiles really wasn’t up for facing any kind of social interaction right now. But it only added to the loneliness. He was literally all by himself. In his own, little cartoon world. Oh, the irony.

Trudging to the other side of the room, he cautiously picked up his phone, from where it had been positioned face down on the ground. Missed calls and unread messages flashed at the screen, and Stiles cringed when he realised that most of the pack had tried to contact him over the night. Unlocking the device, he immediately saw Malia’s texts. It wouldn’t hurt to read them, would it?

[Malia RECEIVED]

 

Malia: Stiles? I’m so sorry

Malia: PLz, Stiles com back

Malia: I need 2 talk 2 u

Malia: We’re outside ur house

Malia: I want 2 com in but Scott won’t let me

Malia: I can climb through the window

Malia: But last time I did that u were jerking off

Malia: Never been so surprised to see your dick  
Malia: STILES?!?!

Malia: Stiles, just answer ur phone

Malia: Fucking answer ur phone

Malia: Stop ignoring my calls 

Malia: Stiles I just want 2 talk

Malia: We can sort this out

Malia: For God’s sake Stiles! Just anser ur fucking phone and stop being a dick

Malia: Sorry, that was harsh

Malia: We’re leaving now

Malia: Please answer my phone

Malia: We’re at my house

Malia: I’m home

Malia: This should’ve happened a long time ago

Malia: Cause its l8

Malia: I fucked up, didn’t I

Malia: Stiles?

Malia: I really am sorry

Malia: Stiles

Malia: I’ll c u tomoro

 

Stiles gave a weary sigh. Malia really had been trying to get in touch with him. And he’d blatantly ignored her and her apologies.  
I don’t want her pity though  
He didn’t want anyone’s pity. He didn’t want the pack to feel sorry for him. Stiles could handle a break up. It’s not like he hadn’t faced rejection before. Eight years of fawning over Lydia had assured him that rejection only hurt if you weren’t expecting it.  
But Stiles hadn’t expected it. They were fine. In Stiles’ eyes. But not Malia’s.  
With quivering fingers Stiles typed out a single word.

[Stiles SENT]

Stiles: Why

Then Stiles cringed. Again.  
Could he have sounded any more of a diva? God, the way he stormed out last night was more dramatic than when Lydia chose not to wear blue and orange together. He quickly locked his phone, shoved it in his pocket and went downstairs.

Entering the kitchen, Stiles felt his phone vibrate in the back of his jeans. Malia really was concerned. Well, she could wait. Embarrassment still washed over Stiles and he wasn’t sure messaging her directly was going to help. Opening the fridge, he felt it vibrate again.  
Maybe she’s just concerned?

Stiles knew that it wasn’t going to facilitate their relationship in any way if he continuously neglected her. If they did have anything left to salvage, it would help communicating slightly. This was Malia. She could talk to him. He could talk back. If she growled, then….. That could be a topic for another day.

But Stiles couldn’t fathom the courage to look at his phone. Reluctantly, he closed the fridge and moved over to the stove, cracking an egg over the pan. It sizzled before settling down, a few stray drops of oil flying out. Cooking was easy; Stiles’ mum had taught him that if you didn’t want a recipe to be hard, it wouldn’t be. Something as simple as frying an egg, or something as complicated as Boeuf Bourguignon. Claudia Stilinski always knew how to cook, and she’d passed such a talent onto Stiles. That was possibly why it wasn’t such a labour to stay on top of his father’s diet. Health and nutrition. Number one priority.

While his thoughts wandered, and the egg lay sizzling in the pan, he felt in back pocket vibrate once more. Curiosity gets the better of him and Stiles dug around, finding his cell and pulling it out. Whatever Malia has to say can’t be that bad, right?  
If it’s about the size of my dick I probably will cry  
But it’s not Malia texting him.

[Derek. H RECEIVED]

Derek: Pack meeting

Derek: At my loft

Derek: ASAP

 

~~~~

 

Everyone but Malia and Parrish were at Derek’s loft by the time Stiles arrived. They’re all sitting on the sofa or chairs, but unlike last night, nobody’s huddled together. Stiles doesn’t even need to be part-werewolf to see a cloud of tension, heavy on the pack. Derek’s the only person not sitting down, pacing the floor with a scowl, hands clasped firmly behind his back. His head rises as Stiles enters, but lowers just as quick. The scowl stays, and is joined by a clenched jaw. Brooding werewolf on the prowl.

Wandering over to the rest of the pack, trying not to maintain eye contact with the others, Stiles takes a seat next to Scott and Lydia, tucking his legs into a fold.  
“What’s up with Big Bad?” Stiles asks Scott in a quiet whisper, even though he knows full well Derek can hear him. Almost as if to justify his point, Derek shoots Stiles a glare, before running a hand through his hair and returning to his patrol.  
“Dunno,” Scott replies, glancing around nervously. “When we came he just told us to sit down and hasn’t said anything since. We think it’s something supernatural, but he won’t talk to us,”  
Seriously, Stiles was Surprised Sam and Dean hadn’t already showed up. There were plenty of creatures for them to hunt. And even more places for Dean and Cas to fuck. But that wasn’t exactly relevant right now.  
“So basically nothing new then?” Stiles smirks, his mood lifting considerably.  
“Yeah, same old,” Scott chuckles quietly, but then gives Stiles a worried look, leaning in closer. “You doing okay, bro? I mean, with the Malia thing and all?”  
Stiles drops his head, seeing Lydia’s perk up in interest. “I don’t know, man. I mean, I kinda left her hanging last night. Don’t even know why,” Stiles sheepishly admits. “It’s weird, because I didn’t even know she was feeling this way,” Stiles winces, realising how blind he’d been. “Like at all. If anything, we were better than we had ever been before. But she mustn’t have felt the same way I did because she wasn’t exactly too peachy yesterday. I mean, I know relationships can be hard, especially if you’ve never been with someone before. But, breaking up with them, kinda rough. We could’ve easily just talked it through and-,”  
“What!?”  
Stiles head shot up, gradually noticing everyone had their eyes drawn to him. Even Derek had stopped pacing and was frozen in place, face a look of revelation. His focus turned to Lydia, who had spoken up.  
“Malia broke up with you?” she demanded, her mouth pursed into a perfect pout, a curious gleam in her eyes.  
Had they entire pack completely forgotten about last night? Stiles was pretty sure his exit had been quite dramatic.  
“Uh, yeah. You guys remember a very upset Stiles leaving in the middle of pack night, not answering any of your texts after a very upsetting break up with Malia?”  
“No, we remember you storming out and not answering our texts, after an argument with Malia,” Derek stated, raising a heavy eyebrow. “We simply assumed you two had fallen out over some crappy Star Wars movie, or something,”  
“Oh,” was all Stiles could think of saying. So Malia hadn’t told anyone. Stiles thought she’d have at least told the pack, maybe only the girls. But she’d kept everyone in the dark, not even wanting to shed the slightest bit of sunlight. Stiles wasn’t sure if he was relieved or condemned, but he couldn’t wallow in his worry right now.  
“Yeah, well, we broke up. And I don’t know why, or what happened. Just that Malia and Stiles are no more,” he trailed off ineptly, suddenly exceedingly interested in a particular freckle placed next to his right thumb. He was only vaguely noticing the rest of the pack looking away as well.  
An awkward silence settled amongst them, the kind you could cut with a knife like it was a birthday cake, and give to someone as a present. If they liked “awkward pack” flavoured cake. Which would have been highly unlikely, unless their taste buds were as absurd as Stiles’ and they didn’t mind a slight change in dish? I mean, how do you know you don’t like Reece’s with curly fries unless you’ve tried them?!

 

A small cough snapped everyone out of their trance, and seven heads turned around to see a smug looking Peter descending down the stairs. He smiles wide, showing rows of perfectly shaped teeth, all white and flawless. Stiles could only imagine what Tony Stark would say if he were here.  
“Well then, if everyone’s here we should probably get on with these so-called “pack meetings” you all have,” Peter reached the bottom and leaned against the wall separating the kitchen from the rest of the room. Folding his arms across his chest, he nodded at Derek, giving him the cue to speak.  
Apparently, Scott beat him to it.

“What the hell is he doing here?!” Scott snarled, jumping up, a growl rumbling deep in his chest. His eyes flashed red, a warning if nothing else. He could’ve probably pulled off scary and intimidating, if Derek hadn’t released an irritated sigh, giving a famous Hale eye-roll.  
“Relax, Scott,” he called, closing his eyes looking exasperated. “He’s given me enough shit today and I don’t think I’ll be able take anymore,”  
“How the fuck did you get out of Eichen?” Scott spat (completely ignoring Derek), showing his growing canines. “And if you say anything about being too physically powerful a werewolf for them, or any shit related to that, I swear to God I will rip your fucking throat out, right here right now,”  
Scott was panting furiously, and Peter only raised a perfectly arched eyebrow, his smirk turning into a grin.  
“Why Scott, this aggravated demeanour is quite appealing,” he purred, licking his lips. “You’d better calm down, because I think young Stiles here may need a change of pants soon,”  
The amount of reactions that happened in the span of ten seconds in that room was appraisable. Stiles let out an extremely unattractive squeak, Scott choked on air for breath, Derek let out a growl so low it must have rumbled throughout the entire county, and Lydia gave a rueful sigh, flicking her hair back. The entire time, Peter only laughed, his voice echoing through the entire room.  
“God, I’ve missed this innocent banter,” Peter chuckled wiping away a fake tear, a slow grin reappearing back on his face. Whether he wanted it to look sinister or sinful, Stiles would never know. To him, it only looked pervy.  
“If you’re done being a creep, Peter,” Scott snapped, his eyes flashing red for a split second “We’re still waiting for your miraculous escape from Eichen. Tell us, how many people did you decapitate this time?”  
Peter absently glanced at his nails, watching impressive claws retract several inches up into the air. “Only a few dozen Scott,” he quipped sarcastically. “Now, if we’re done with the cynicism, I’ll inform you that I still have a few allies left in this world. Ones that don’t,” he spat, glaring at Derek with the emphasized don’t, “Turn their back on family,”  
“So you mean you still know people that are too fucking scared of you to call you out on your bullshit?” Stiles remarked grimly, recollecting all of his experiences with Peter. The guy wasn’t exactly Mother Teresa when it came to selflessness.  
Peter ignored Stiles’ comment, and kept on talking to Scott “I was able to pull a few strings with a few friends,” he said smugly, looking pointedly at Stiles “And now I’m here,”  
“Under my supervision,” Derek stated flatly “You’re not allowed to leave the building without a fully grown adult with you, nor are you allowed to be in the loft alone for more than a few hours at a time,” Peter glared at Derek, and if looks could kill, Derek may have been on his 4th or 5th life by now.  
“So basically, Derek’s your babysitter,” Stiles piped, suppressing a smile but he was unable to hide the amused look on his face. Peter bared his fangs in retaliation, narrowing his eyes.  
“Do you want to talk about my prohibition, or do you want to know about Beacon Hills’ brand new supernatural addition?”  
The pack roared to life, a series of voices clamouring for answers, throwing questions towards Peter, who quite simply stayed in his former position, a sly smirk spreading across his face.  
“SHUT IT!” Derek bellowed, voice rising higher than everyone else’s combined. The group fell silent, pairs of round eyes snapping to Derek’s attention.  
“You could have tackled that better!” Derek addressed Peter, eyes glowing blue. Stiles would be dammed if that didn’t set something off in him, even if he wasn’t quite sure what it was. Probably the whole “werewolf intimidation” thing.

Peter merely shrugged, sauntering over to the space in front of the TV, positioning himself into plain focus for the pack. The seats were situated in such a way; everyone seemed to be gathered round Peter.  
“I’m happy to start whenever you are,” 

Derek glanced around the room sighing, “Parrish can’t make it, and I don’t think Malia’s coming anytime soon,” Derek said, peering anxiously at Stiles “So we might as well get started,” he walked over to Stiles on the sofa, gesturing for Lydia to move over. She huffed, but shuffled to the side, allowing Derek to squeeze in between the two of them.

Stiles let out a defeated sigh, focussing all his attention on his palms, while Peter started talking.  
“I’ve been in touch with some old friends,” he started “And they told me about some new families moving over into Beacon Hills. We don’t know who they are, but apparently they weren’t too popular in their last home. They’ve been relocated here, and have kept to themselves so far, but still seem quite suspicious. I’ve met one family, and their son is what we call a “chimera”. He seems nice enough, and they’re looking for a pack for him to join,”  
Peter directed his attention to Scott. “He’s only a boy, no older than any of you. Of course the decision to allow him to join is up to Scott. Other than that, I don’t know anything else. The other families haven’t spoken to me, but I advise you not to become too comfortable with them. If you can, keep your distance,”

“So basically, just be aware of things going on nowadays?” Stiles asked, feeling like the topic wasn’t fully over. There was probably something Peter hadn’t told them yet.  
“Observant as always Stiles,” the older man praised, obviously not meaning it. “You should just stick together from now on. Try to stay close to another member of the pack. It wouldn’t help the situation if one of you ended up dead,”  
“Why would we end up dead?” Kira questioned, with a look of justified suspicion.  
“Well, maybe because there have been four killings ever since they arrived,” Peter responded casually. “Did I leave that out?”  
Scott gave an irritated sigh, burying his face in his hands. “When did they arrive?” he groaned, the sound coming out muffled. 

“Exactly one week today,”

 

~~~~

 

Stiles was hunched over the balcony, gazing out into the air. The pack had gone slightly chaotic after finding out there had been four killings in one week. That wasn’t the best news for them to get.  
He heard a door slide open, and Derek came outside, placing himself next to Stiles on the balcony.  
“You okay?” he asked quietly, voice no more than a whisper. Stiles turned to face him, noticing how his eyebrows were drawn down in concern. Never before would he have thought the guy would meet him outside to ask how he was. But then again, never before had Stiles thought he would be fighting alongside a pack of supernatural creatures, defeating other supernatural creatures. He had always thought the Winchesters were awesome, but he wouldn’t have wanted to be in their place.  
Letting out a weary sigh, he raked a hand through his hair.  
“I don’t know,” Stiles shrugged, looking up at the older wolf. “It’s all kind of sudden, I guess. I really thought all this shit had settled down for a while, but I guess not,”  
Derek gave a small chuckle, “Stiles, this is Beacon Hills. Nothing will ever settle down. You just need to make sure you know how to handle it,”  
“That’s easy for you to say,” Stiles recounted, raising an eyebrow. “You have all this superhuman strength, and power and shit. I don’t have anything. If I can barely walk across the room without knocking something over, how do you expect me to protect myself against these new killers, who seem to have a strange thirst for death? We all know I’m not the best warrior when it comes to recent killings. I’ve had my fair share of Darach and Nogitsune to last me a lifetime. If Voldemort suddenly appears from the ground I’m probably going to throw something at someone. No matter who’s standing in my way. But you guys will probably be able to duck in time, with your senses and reactions. I doubt I could even-,”  
“STILES,” Derek cut off his rambling.  
“Sorry,” the boy grimaced apologetically. “I’m just trying to say that I’ll mostly end up in a ditch by the end of the month, because I was too weak to defend myself in any way,”  
Derek frowned, looking down at Stiles. “You think you’re weak?”  
“I know I’m weak,” Stiles muttered, rubbing his palm over his face. “But, hey! I don’t mind. Not too much. I’m still totally badass for being able to keep up with you guys. I mean, come on, how many humans run with wolves?” he grinned goofily, head lifting higher.  
Derek gave a soft laugh, something Stiles had never heard before. It seemed sacred, almost.  
“As much as you are ‘badass’, make sure you stick with someone wherever you go,” Derek requested gently.  
Stiles’ grin dropped, so quickly you wouldn’t have even known it was there.  
“Because I’m weak?” he clarified.  
“Because you’re too important to lose,” Derek murmured, leaning in slightly. Then he was gone, travelling back inside, leaving Stiles gaping on the balcony.

Derek had definitely meant that in a totally platonic way, but that didn’t stop Stiles’ stomach from churning. His cheeks burned, and he felt a sudden rush of guilt.  
The body’s not even cold.

Almost as if the universe was trying to prove a point, he heard a chime coming from his trouser leg. Reaching in and pulling out his phone, there was a message blinking on the screen. Stiles’ swiped a finger, unlocking it. 

[Malia RECIEVED]

Malia: Can we talk?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter two! A little more Sterek than last time. What did you guys think about the return of Peter?  
> Thanks sooo much again for all the kudos and comments! Still only starting out! Tell me what you think in the comments.
> 
> -Gobi


	3. If you Let Go, you'll Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears collected in Malia’s ducts, pooling out silently down her pale cheeks. Stiles used his thumb to wipe them away, but he still held her gaze, never looking away. He felt his stomach begin to drop, and a small bead of sweat trail down his forehead.  
> Who knew breaking up was so traumatic?  
> “I feel like we separated somehow, like we’re not together. It’s almost like I’m growing away from you. I tried to stop it, but the pull became stronger. I didn’t want this to be the way it is, Stiles, I promise you. But I feel like I’m lying if I kiss you, or even hold your hand. I feel like it’s just not real anymore,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH! CHAPTER THREEEEEEEE!  
> This week has been REALLY CRAZY for me. I have been uot to my neck in tests, and im soooo sorry i didn't upload sooner.  
> BUt i promise you'll get another chapter after this in a few days!
> 
> Slightly depressing chapter, and Malia's slightly bitchy. BUT ohhhh wellll!  
> Its a fanfic!

To be perfectly honest, Stiles wasn’t sure what the text meant. He read it over. Several times. Again and again. The words didn’t make sense. Well, technically they did. The grammar was correct and it was seemingly accurate word choice if you put it into context. But other than that it made next to no sense.

 _Malia wanted to see_ Stiles _?_

But why? They had literally _just_ broken up. It wasn’t the cleanest break either. It had been unexplained, inefficient, and definitely unexpected. The pieces of the puzzle didn’t fit. And the ones that did weren’t even in the _box_. They’d been scattered all over the place, and it would take too long to find them.

If Stiles’ wasn’t confused enough, this definitely topped the hat off. He had quite a sufficient brain capacity. His distracted mind was able to hold barrels of information, and he could solve problems like he ate them for breakfast. Probably because he did. The sheriff had been buying the same Number Jacks cereal since Stiles was five.

But this wasn’t his usual problem, and Stiles didn’t know exactly how he was going to solve it. There was no evidence, no clues, no possible victims or criminals. Just a text. And he had to reciprocate an answer, from a _text._

With a deep sigh, Stiles evaluated the pros and cons of replying.  There was the possibility that Malia hadn’t been thinking straight that night, and it was all just an incredulous mistake. They’d kiss and make up, so everything could go back to being Stiles’ fairytale fantasy.

But there was also a chance that Malia would bombard Stiles with reasons why they weren’t an ideal couple, why they weren’t working out. Why he wasn’t right for her.

Shit, that hurt. And it wasn’t even a realistic scenario. If a hypothetical situation burned this much, Stiles was going to have to ask Derek for his biggest pack of beer, so he could hopefully go home and wallow in his misery. Which would most likely end up with Stiles sending an embarrassing voicemail to Malia about her breasts, but _oh well._

 

The wind whistled past, a shiver crawling up Stiles’ spine. It was getting late, and late meant dark. And dark meant weird supernatural creatures coming out and enjoying a much unneeded killing spree. Killing humans. This was exactly the category Stiles fell under.

A small, fragile human.

 Stiles made his way back inside, where the pack were all talking in hushed voices. Everyone seemed to be wired up, like their strings had pulled to the last cord.

Lydia was the only one not talking to anyone, hunched on the couch. Her usual glimmering eyes seemed dazed, washed out almost. They were fixated on a single spot by the dulled out rug under Derek’s TV. Her manicured nails were clasped tightly together, knuckles turning white. Walking over, Stiles gently parted her hands from each other, laying them by her sides. Her face glanced at Stiles, a confused look growing on her drained expression. She pouted slightly, looking down at their joint hands. “What are you doing?”

Stiles smiled assuring at Lydia, trying to show her his concern. “You were seconds away from bursting a few major veins. I didn’t want you to stain Derek’s sofa,”

Lydia only stared at him, eyebrows lowering. “I don’t feel right,” she muttered, eyes travelling away once more.

“How come?” Stiles asked, settling her hands onto her floral printed dress.

“I- I don’t know. It feels like something is pulling at me,” Lydia explained. “I only felt it last night, and the feeling hasn’t gone away. It’s like I’m parting with- some- ugh. I don’t know…,” she trailed off resignedly.

“You’re probably tired Lyds,” Stiles hummed, sitting next to her.

“Maybe,” Lydia pondered, “But I don’t feel tired. It just hit me suddenly, when Malia stormed out yesterday. Like someone cut a piece of string that was keeping me up right. How is she – Malia - if you don’t mind me asking?”

Stiles gave a weary sigh. He wasn’t ready to talk about Malia, but if there was anyone who could show him where he went off track, it was Lydia.

“She’s _weird_ ,” Stiles drew out, wincing at his word choice. “Not like that, but I don’t get what’s up with her. We were _fine_ the day before, but yesterday… she just- she didn’t,”

“ _Stiles,”_ Lydia spoke, her fingers turning Stiles head towards the door, “Do you know anything about relationships?”

“I’m going to assume that this is a rhetorical question,”

“Go find Malia! She’s somewhere thinking the exact same things as you are. The only thing either of you can do now, is _talk_ about it,”

“But we’re _not_ thinking the same,” Stiles protested, “I didn’t have a _clue_ that it was over between us, yet Malia seemed so sure of it,”

“Then there’s a reason behind her doing so,” Lydia motioned for Stiles to face her once again. “If you want to know what’s going on - ASK HER!”

There wasn’t anything Stiles could think of replying back, so he only nodded and made his way towards the doors of the loft. When he left, Stiles felt two things at once. A strange tightening in his back, like a rope. Twisting and uncurling, then twisting again.

He also felt a pair of eyes following him out. Blue, bold and brooding.

 

Once Stiles was outside, he quickly rushed to his Jeep, sliding inside. If he was going to talk to Malia, he had to leave now. Unlocking his phone, he typed out a message.

 

**[Stiles _SENT_ ]**

**Stiles: Where should we meet?**

Malia’s answer was almost instant, and that made Stiles question if this meeting would be as bad as he was dreading it to be.

 

**Malia: The preserve?**

**Malia: Just the spot overlooking BH?**

**Malia: We’d have privacy there**

Stiles couldn’t see any reason to challenge her theory. It did seem like pretty much the ideal place to talk, - secluded, no one to interrupt them.

 

**Stiles: Give me a half hour and I’ll be there**

 

 

 

 

~~~~

 

 

The moon was already high in the sky, lighting the trees around the preserve. Millions of stars danced and twinkled in and out of the night, glittering like fireflies. Each one was a different size, and although Stiles didn’t have microscopic vision, he knew that none of them were alike.

The biggest stars shone the brightest, but the smaller ones weren’t necessarily any dimmer. The just didn’t stand out as much. It seemed like a pretty accurate representation of Stiles’ current position. And you don’t need to see the stars to know they’re there.

 Unless one day the universe decided to implode and every living creature on earth vanished, and very star, planet and moon shrunk to the literal size of _nothing_ , and all meteors turned into those weird, giant floating baby heads from Phineas and Ferb. But that wasn’t exactly relevant right now.

 

Leaves and twigs were crunching with every step Stiles took, echoing in the silence of the preserve. It was eerily quiet tonight, a deathly silence resting in the trees. Which was unusual, seeing as there was always something or the other in the depths of Beacon Hills. Supernatural, or completely scientifically proven to exist. An owl hooted steadily in the distance, its voice travelling far enough for Stiles to hear. A bird of some sort ruffled its feathers nearby, but other than those few sounds, that was it.

Dead silence.

 

Stiles was expecting Hannibal Lecter to pop out from behind one of the trees, and chainsaw ready in hand. Even though Hannibal didn’t use one. He had his hands. Which he used to (insufficiently) murder his prey. Horror movie clichés would simply be the glaze on top of the cherry. Which had by now, most likely gotten mouldy.

These thoughts didn’t make Stiles feel any more reassured than before. Only now he was worried Malia would be talking to Stiles’ head. And only his head. The rest of him would be _inside_  the guy. That would make the goodbye hug extremely awkward.

 

Soon enough, though, the cluster of trees diminished, and Stiles saw Malia standing out on the cliff, her back facing Stiles. The wind blew her hair around wildly, brown strands dancing gracefully.

Obviously hearing Stiles –those werewolf senses were on top-, Malia turned around to face him, a small yet relieved smile spreading on her face.

“I didn’t know if you were coming or not,” she admitted quietly, her voice no more than a whisper of the howls of the wind. Her eyes seemed distant somehow, like they weren’t really there. They stared right at Stiles, but he felt like Malia wasn’t looking at him completely. Almost as if, only a part of him was there, and that was all Malia was seeing.

Stiles cleared his throat, grinning uncomfortably. “And miss this unsupervised meeting in the middle of the woods at practically midnight with no one but Hannibal to hear my screams? Why on earth wouldn’t I come?”

Malia cocked an amused eyebrow, head tilting slightly. “I’m guessing Hannibal isn’t a book,”

“ _Why!”_ Stiles threw a hand against his chest, pretending to be shocked, “If you think Hannibal is a book, you are so far from right you’re left,”

Malia chuckled quietly, dropping her head and shaking it. “I don’t know Stiles,”

“Know what?” Stiles asked, almost desperately. He knew where this was going though, and he didn’t have the strength to stop it. He and Malia were on a high speed race, driving through their lives. Malia could stop anytime; take a pit stop whenever she wanted to. But Stiles had no control over his car. His breaks were broken, his gears unable to shift. All he could do was try to steer himself in the right direction, until his car ran out of gas.

“Know anything,” she sighed, closing her eyes. “I felt like we were so good, we seemed perfect. I don’t know what happened,”

“Malia-,”

“ _NO Stiles!”_ Malia interrupted, eyes opening and flashing blue, “You have no idea how much this has troubled me. For a whole _week_ I have had sleepless nights, just thinking about what I’m going to do. I don’t want to hurt your feelings, but I just can’t do this anymore!”

Malia was panting, her breath coming in and out in croaky rasps. Her face fell, and she slowly sunk to the floor, holding her head in her hands. “I can’t do it,”

Stiles walked over, cautiously draping an arm around Malia’s shoulders. He didn’t know if she would push him away like last time, but to his surprise she snuggled in, whining slightly.

“Whatever it is, we’ll get through it,” Stiles soothed, running his fingers through Malia’s locks. “If you say we’re done, then we’re done. If you want to take a break, we can take one. If this is going to cause a massive dent in our relationship, ending up with us never talking again, then so be it. But just answer one small thing,” Stiles lifted up Malia’s chin with the tips of his fingers, looking her dead in the eye, hoping she would see all of him. “What went wrong?”

Malia stayed silent for what seemed like an age, bottom lip quivering helplessly. The signs weren’t good, and Stiles felt faint. It was not going to run smoothly.

 

 Tears collected in Malia’s ducts, pooling out silently down her pale cheeks. Stiles brushed at them with his thumb, but he still held her gaze, never looking away. He felt his stomach begin to drop, and a small bead of sweat trail down his forehead.

Who knew breaking up was so traumatic?

“I feel like we separated somehow, like we’re not together. It’s almost like I’m growing away from you. I tried to stop it, but the pull became stronger. I didn’t want this to be the way it is, Stiles, I _promise_ you. But I feel like I’m lying if I kiss you, or even hold your hand. I feel like it’s just not _real_ anymore,”

Malia looks desperately into Stiles’ eyes, a cold blue piercing its way into his flesh. Her voice continues, but Stiles stops listening. Something’s wrong.

 

He can feel his skin burning, pinpricks of heats embedding into his skin. His head swirls around, whirl pooling into a haze of thoughts, some lost some found. Stiles takes a deep breath, exhaling with a shaky drop. His spine feels like it’s going to snap in a moment. And he doesn’t know why.

“Stiles?” Malia’s anxious voice breaks through the fog, and Stiles can vaguely make out a firm grip settling on his upper arm. The shakes that flood through his body only cause his head to swim more, and his surroundings dance in morbid shapes around him. Malia is no longer Malia, she is now a blur, a smudge, a mix of colours appearing then disappearing. “Stiles look at me,”

He can feel his chest tighten, shoulders clenched unsettlingly. The ground underneath him is melting away, earth slipping through his fingers as easily as sand would. The sensation of falling hits Stiles like a ton of bricks, and he frantically claws at the soil, not wanting to meet the ground.

“STILES!”

 

A scream can’t snap him out of the trance, but a small voice in the far back of his mind tells him it’s a panic attack.

He’s experienced many before, but none like this. Stiles can’t breathe, see or think. Though worse than that, he can’t feel himself anymore. The painful tugging at his chest is now a full blown feeling of torture. His heart is being pulled out from his body, pounding and beating drastically. Stiles wants to protect his upper half, wants to shield his body with his hands.

But if he lets go of the ground he’ll fall. Stiles can’t fall.

 

“Stiles, please, _listen_! I’m sorry Stiles. Would you just please look at me! Can you hear me?”

The voice drabbled on, until it’s incoherent, and Stiles can’t distinguish syllable from syllable. His ears feel heavy, weighing him down. Sound leaks out from them, and stiles can literally feel blood dripping down the sides of his head. His neck strains under the heaviness, and bends helplessly. Stiles can feel it snapping, his bones breaking. Muscles twisting and turning, agony firing through his veins.

The light dissipates from his sight, a cold darkness covering his view. His vision goes bleak and blurred, and tears fill up the emptiness. Stiles’ insides churn, and he can sense them pooling out from somewhere. It scorches his abdomen, scraping up the walls of the skeleton. His fingers are raw, dry and dirty.

 

And his mind won’t stop spinning.

He begs, _pleads_ , mentally going down on all fours to ask his conscience to slow down, let him catch up. He’s tired, his body aches, his sight  impaired, the screeching growing even more intense inside his frail ears. Falling to the ground, Stiles sobs. Gut wrenching cries releasing from him. The pain is unbearable, unstable. He can only handle so much. This crossed the line a long time ago.

 

Stiles feels his stomach lurch again, and he empties out his inside. Literally.

Organs spill out from his mouth, coating his lips in a deadly scarlet shade. They fall in a bloody heap on the ground, but the vomit doesn’t resist in anyway. It pools out in an even more intensifying gesture. Stiles feels hollow, empty, blood wrapping around his tongue.

 

Then after a sudden burst of light, everything goes dark.

 

 

~~~~

The sharp slap of a palm against his cheek has Stiles gasping for air. His hands immediately reach up to his mouth, only to surprisingly find it clear of his blood. His lips are chapped, but dry. His stomach doesn’t feel like half of his internal organs have leaked out.

 

Slowly, Stiles sits up, and meets a slightly worried looking Malia staring nervously at him.

“You alright?” she asks, her eyes wide and unblinking. Stiles steadily peers around him, finding the earth clean of any bodily substances.

“What happened?” he manages to rasp out. His throat his raw, but intact.

“You began to breathe heavily for a minute or so, and then you blacked out,” Malia states simply, not looking incredibly fussed.

“ _That’s it_?” Stiles stares, aghast. “But, you were screaming at me- I, I was- the blood…,” he stammers out confused. He hadn’t imagined anything that was for sure. The pain was the most realistic thing he’d ever felt before.

“Stiles, what are you talking about?”

“Malia, you were there! You saw me!” Stiles urgently tries, wringing his hands. He helplessly tries to find the words to explain, while Malia holds a slightly sour expression.

“Are you trying to make me feel _bad,_ Stiles?!” she spits out, glaring at him. “I may’ve broken up with you, but that’s no reason to fake a panic attack just so you could plant a guilt bomb on me!”

 

Stiles’ body froze. Was that what Malia thought?

“Malia, listen, it was-,”

“NO Stiles, _you_ listen to _me!”_ Malia snarls, lips curling back. “I tried to make this easy, and you’re blaming me! For something that didn’t even happen!”

“It did, Malia!” Stiles shoots back, voice rising. “I _felt it_ happen! I felt the blood-,”

“WHAT BLOOD?” Malia screeches at him, standing up furiously. “If there was blood, you wouldn’t be talking to me, would you? You’d be freaking over it, even if it was only a fucking cut on your elbow!”

Stiles stops, his breath catching in his throat. Malia looks down at him, down _on_ him, panting heatedly. Her eyes glow blue in the dark, flashing intimidating.

“I don’t want this to be hard between us Stiles, but you’re making it _really fucking difficult!_ ”

“I’m making it difficult!?”

“YES!” Malia yells, silencing him. “You _always_ make it difficult! You can’t let things flow easily for once, can you? You just need to mess it up, ruin the picture. Well, I’m going to paint one for you Stiles,”

Her claws extend, and she glowers over him, “The picture- It’s me. By myself. You're not there, I'm on my own. And I'm managing. I can cope with staying single for a while, even if you think I'll drop dead the minute you walk away. I can stand on my own two legs, and I don't need some hyped up spazz drilling a hole into my head. I like you Stiles, but I'm not you girlfriend anymore. Because we. Are. Done,”

 

With that, she storms off. Leaving Stiles by himself. And he doesn't even know what to think of it. One moment he had Malia in his arms, the next he was dying in his own pool of blood. Except he wasn't. The entire experience was slightly overwhelming, and Stiles can only wish that his panic attacks will be generous enough to leave him alone for the rest of the night. It had been rather tiresome day, and Stiles could barely comprehend the fact that the woods was once again eerily quiet. Even more so than before. His arms prickled with goose bumps, and the hairs on his neck stood up. One thing was for sure, Stiles didn't want to spend any excess time in the woods if he could prevent it. The sooner he got up and left for home the better.

But before Stiles could make his way out of the forest, he sensed someone behind him. Turning around, the boy squints in the darkness, trying hard to make out if anyone or possibly even anything was there. The new arrivals weren't exactly number one on Stiles' "who to meet" list. In fact, they ended up roughly around the number fifty mark. Nothing personal. Just the whole "I'm a human and weird unknown supernatural creatures don't mix well with me". He lets out a shaky breath, eyes darting back and forth. Calling out to whatever's lurking in there wouldn't be the smartest action to make. But Stiles was never the person for choosing wise options.

His voice gets caught in his throat when a soft glow radiates from the trees. Different beams of light catching onto the ground, creating a perfect, shimmering halo onto the forest floor. For a moment, there's only light. Then a person emerges from the darkness. No, not a person. A fricken angel. Literally.

Stiles can't make out a face of any sort, just a long, lithe body hovering a fraction above the ground. A white gown covers the frame of what is supposedly a woman, but he can't be too sure. She holds an upright posture, swaying gently from side to side. It seems like eternities that Stiles watches her, both still like walls of stone.But he was never good in a silence, and the urge to speak is too strong.  
Almost like the creature knew that Stiles was going to break the barrier, she straightens up and slowly eases forward, her body rippling through the air like waves at the beach. Stiles can feel his jaw drop in some form of majestic awe.

 

And he’s enchanted.

 

There’s no other word for it. He’s dumbstruck, frozen in place. Stiles can feel a shaky breath leaving his body as the gorgeous creature advances closer. Stars seem to sparkle around the area, dancing in the moonlight.

The creature extends a glowing hand, and for a minute, Stiles feels blessed, all worries leaving his body. She starts to circle him, charming Stiles incredulously. Then, just as he thinks of opening his uncontrollable mouth of his once more, an unexpected spike of pleasure drills through him.

 

And Stiles blacks out for the second time that day.


	4. Going Back, but Not Too Far

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you remember what you saw Stiles?”  
> Stiles cranes his neck upwards, and closes his eyes. Random of flashes of light bounce in and out of his memory, but nothing else. He can’t remember a face, or a person. Or any sort of creature. No sights or sounds come to mind, no places or scenes. Hell, he can barely remember Malia. When Stiles woke up, he’d felt weirdly aware of what had just happened, but thinking back, he hadn’t identified anything properly. His thoughts were once again a haze, but only now slightly more controlled. His head felt heavy, but he pushed harder, willing himself to commit to the memory once more. A glimpse of trees, a sudden sound of water, that was all Stiles could recollect. That was all. That - and….  
> “Derek,”  
> Three heads spun to face him, eyes wide with diverse arrays of surprise.  
> “I remember Derek,” Stiles mutters softly, to no one in particular

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, I guess i should apologise for being AWOL for so long. I do have another account, and i've spent that last few eternities completing a fic there. This account has been SERIOUSLY neglected, and i am so sorry.
> 
> But, a few freinds egged me on to carry on with this fic, so now i have a new project! I will finish this fic before strating anything else on my main account, as a thanks for yous being so nice with all your views and kudos!
> 
> Also, just a quick mention that I made a small tweak in chapter two. Rather major tweak actually, about Stiles' sexuality. Might want to re-read it, or I'll just catch you up right now.
> 
> In chapter two, it mentions that Stiles is bisexual. I took that out. I'm thinking of letting him realise his bisexuality over the period of the fic, and with Derek or whoever else. But for now, in Stiles' mind, he's pretty straight. Just thought I'd put that in.
> 
> Other than that- a new chapter 
> 
> Soooooo enjoy!
> 
> -Gobi

He’s in the woods again. Trees surrounding him, enclosing him, yet he doesn’t feel pressured or cramped. He feels free. It’s different from the night with Malia. Maybe that’s because it’s not night anymore. It’s broad daylight, and Stiles can see himself wandering through the crisp autumn leaves. Like, _literally_ see himself. There’s a Stiles only a few feet away from him, but he doesn’t seem to know anyone else is there.

This isn’t reality then, probably some weird sort of dream. Stiles has always wanted to have an epiphany. If that’s what this is. Or an autoscopy. That’s what Morrell called it. Wow, a real out-of-body experience.

But Stiles isn’t alone. He’s jabbering to Scott, the two of them walking side by side, steps utterly synchronise. It’s an amusing image, because they look extremely different than what they look like now. Stiles has his buzz cut back, complete with a set of gangly limbs and worn out clothes. Scott looks like elderly woman would pinch his cheeks and feed him candy, with his shaggy hair, and naive smile. Then it hits Stiles.

 _This was three years ago_. Just after Scott was bitten.

 

Stiles leans in towards the pair, trying to catch what they’re discussing. The two stop, and Scott stares in shock at something old-Stiles says. Present-Stiles strains to make it out.

“Yeah,” old-Stiles nods his head, looking slightly bemused, “I think it’s called, _lycanthropy_ ,”

Scott’s eyes practically pop out of his head, his eyebrows flying high.

 

Present-Stiles chuckles quietly to himself. Even then they were close, when everything was practically falling apart. Their problems weren’t even problems back then. They were matters of small complication. Arguably, the two couldn’t have known any better. Hell, neither of them knew that werewolves even existed. When Scott received the bite, everything turned upside down. Not just for them, but for half the folk in Beacon Hills.

 

Stiles catches a movement from the corner of his eye, and he spins around to see a pissed Derek sauntering towards him. Before, Stiles must’ve thought Derek’s face was permanently plastered into a scowl, eyebrows forever sloping down.

Now, he can see a slight pain in his eyes, his paled skin looking sickly. His shoulders are slumped, even with his “macho” posture. Stiles suddenly remembers that this was only a few days after Laura had died. He feels a pang of guilt, realising that whilst Derek was most likely still to be grieving, Scott and Stiles had called the police on him, had him arrested, threatened him, accused of turning Scott _and_ killing his own sister. With the whole “hunter betrayal” part after.

And never once had either of the young boys genuinely apologised to Derek. The guy had probably been fucked over every which way and when he tried to help Scott, the boy had refused any sort of association with the man. Wow, this is what it means to say the past will eventually come back and bite you in the ass. Not in the good way, either.

 

“This is private property,”

 

Derek’s sharp tone snaps Stiles out of his trance, and his head darts up to the wolf glaring at the two. His eyes bore into them, and any other day Stiles wouldn’t have felt affected by seeing Derek trying to hide his distress.

 

But in the current moment, he’s only barely resisting the urge to wrap his arms around the older man, whispering soothing comforts into his ears.

 As absurd the thought is, but Stiles only knows how much their relationship has grown. Even in his conscience, his fricken _dream_ , he can tell that he and Derek don’t act the way they used to around each other. Years ago, he was willing to let Derek _die_. And only a few weeks before, did he feel his stomach drop when he thought Derek was breathing his last breaths. Stiles has witness some fucked up shit in his life, but nothing was quite like that experience. Watching the man who had risked his life multiple times to save Stiles, the man who had sworn he didn’t trust Stiles, yet was able to put his complete faith in the boy’s hands. The man, who urged Stiles to carry on, carry on _away_ from Derek, when he was fighting death to the very last minute. Watching him finally sacrifice everything for Scott and his pack, even when he didn’t have a pack of his own left. It was like watching a person with so little, give everything they had left to someone else who had the world.

 

That hit Stiles like two cars in a collision. The wind left his body, stilling all and everything around him. His eyes stilled, frozen in place. Stiles could feel the pause in his scene, but he made no effort to try and hit play. It was almost like something was waiting for him to move, so it could strike out and finally finish him off.

 

With the slowest of movements, Stiles closed his eyes, letting the weight of the aura settle on him. He breathed in deeply, noticing a change of atmosphere. The scent of pine and burnt wood was gone. The feel of the cooling breeze that had been dancing around him dropped to the floor. The leaves that had been lying dead and bitter underneath his shoes left, replacing the feeling with a flat, cold surface. Stiles’ nose burned with the smell of chlorine, overpowering his senses. His lids remained shut, squeezed for maximum effect. He told himself that if he could manage to keep them closed for long enough, he would wake up. But then a faint sound of splashing was brought aboard, as were a couple of tense voices. It sounded like a few people struggling, but that was all Stiles could interpret from his ears.

 

Unable to resist the urge, he opened his eyes.

 

And saw an old-Stiles again.

But this time he wasn’t with Scott, or in the woods. He was treading water in his school swimming pool, hair matted to his head, wearing a strained look. Next to him, Derek was barely keeping his head above the shimmering surface. The man had his eyebrows drawn down as far as Stiles had ever seen them before, glaring angrily at the young boy.

Which seemed rather unnecessary, seeing as Stiles was the only thing stopping him from sinking down.

 

At the edge of the pool, a lizard-like creature was hissing furiously at the two, tongue flicking in and out of its scaled mouth. Stiles almost immediately recognized it as the Kanima, recalling how it had caged Stiles and Derek in the pool.

 

“You need me to survive, which is why _you’re not letting me go_ ,” Derek’s voice rasped, rough with fatigue.

 

The memory wasn’t entirely fresh in Stiles’ mind, but witnessing a replay of the scene was certainly helpful. He now remembered the ache in his arm, the strain in his legs, and the determination inside of him. The silent pleas Derek had been sending him, almost telepathically. Nothing had to be said then, Stiles just knew.

He knew that even though Derek insisted on not being able to trust Stiles, the man had full faith in him. Even though neither of them had been able to defend themselves that evening, both of them did everything in their full capacity to keep the other safe.

 

A gargled yelp and the ripple of water had Stiles’ attention once more. He saw old-Stiles reaching out desperately for his phone, and a dark blur fading underneath the water.

 

The feel of guilt still weighed heavy in the pit of his stomach. Stiles had let go of Derek, willingly let them man slowly sink down to the bottom. A man who was unable to move in any way shape or form. The man who had put himself in front of Stiles, acting as a barrier in-between him and the Kanima.

He had let go of Derek, to try and call Scott. Actually thinking that Scott would be there to help him. To prove that he hadn’t just lost the last of Derek’s trust for no reason. And Scott wasn’t even there to help him. 

 

Glancing up, he saw old-Stiles fumbling on his phone. As selfish as it sounded, he was angry at Scott. That moment was possibly one of the biggest times he had felt slightly betrayed by his best friend. He could see old-Stiles’ expression change from shock, to dismay, and finally anger. The reencounter of that wasn’t Stiles’ best memory, and he turned away before he could see anymore.

 

Speed walking away from the pool, he subconsciously flung open the doors, forgetting that this was a weird hallucination-dream type thing. Because the instant he stepped out of the pool, he was greeted with Derek’s loft. The furniture was scarce, the room was dimly lit, and there was quite a commotion going on in the middle of the room.

 

A table set out, cluttered with different papers and maps of sorts. Blueprints and diagrams covered every inch, and a frustrated Derek, an arrogant Stiles and a very confused Scott stood by it. Derek had his taught arms supporting him as he leaned on the surface of the table. His brow was furrowed as usual, but his face held a slightly amused smirk. Regardless, a very _very_ small smirk, but a smirk all the same. His eyes were constantly darting back and forth from Stiles, while the boy garbled on about whatever he was discussing. For a fraction of a second, the two caught each other’s stares, and it was such a private moment Stiles felt a need to look away. Everything somehow managed to go into freeze frame. Time came to a standstill, and Stiles could see the fondness in the looks they were giving each other.

 

The two really had come a long way. Maybe Stiles should try to talk to Derek more. The man had experienced _a lot_ in his life. He would know how to deal with Stiles’ miniature crisis. If it was even that. Then again, Derek would probably glare at Stiles, or have no respond at all. The guy wasn’t the most accessible human on the planet. But that didn’t mean Stiles’ couldn’t try to engage with him. In fact, there was a chance that it might benefit both of them.

 

Content with the decision to talk to Derek, Stiles made a one-eighty degree turn and almost fell over when a gust of wind blew in his face. Dust flew around him, swirling in and out of his feet. Miles of sand was only visible from where he was standing. Sand, and a body.

 

Straining his eyes, he could vaguely make out Derek lying on the floor, coated in blood. His lips stained scarlet and his intoxicating green eyes pale and lifeless. His head lolled to the side, drooping and void of his usual olive glow.

 

There was no Braeden next to him. None of the pack nearby. Just Derek.

 

All alone. Dead. And Stiles’ felt his heart shatter, his blood turn cold. He felt like he was breaking into a million pieces, each one slowly being crushed by the sight of Derek’s motionless body. His chest began to throb, like an actual heartbreak. He could feel heat surging through him, sizzling his nerves and veins.

 

This wasn’t metaphorical. It was real. He felt power flooding through him, coaxing his body to extend into something unknown. Electricity swam through him, eating him yet supporting him.

It was the power that made him feel alive. Made him want to run, scream, shout. It made Stiles feel superior to anything and everything around him.

 

It made his eyes flash, chest pump out.

It made his legs give way, and he fell to the ground, hitting his head of off the dust.

 

 

~~~~

“He’s breathing. His heartbeat is strong and steady. I’ll give it ten minutes before he wakes up. Maybe even less,”

Stiles heard Deaton’s voice droning on in a single monotone, accompanied with the beep of some sort of monitor. His arms were strapped down to a bed, as were his feet. A faint buzzing was humming in his head. Or out of it. It was heard to tell. His lids felt heavy and slightly swollen against his eyes, and Stiles could taste the staleness of his breath.

“Is he okay?” Scott’s nervous plea broke through. He could hear the worry coming from his best friend, and Stiles smiled fondly. Or at least he attempted to. His mouth stayed rigid, even when he tensed all his facial muscles.

“Um, Deaton? Why does he look constipated?” Scott asked, supposedly leaning down as Stiles could feel a faint puff of breath against his cheeks.

“I assume he’s regaining consciousness faster than I had estimated. His nerves and limbs are loose right now, and they’ll stay loose for a few minutes,”

Great. So Stiles was basically a rag doll right now. He had virtually no clue of what had happened to him, but Scott must’ve found him after that angel thing knocked him out. Whatever it was. When Stiles could talk, he’d have to report back to the pack on what he saw.

“What about his stomach?” a low growl came from somewhere across the room. Was that Derek? Geez, the guy was everywhere these days. Arriving in his subconscious was toeing the line, but unexpectedly popping up when he was in a somewhat comatose state was crossing it by miles.

“The puncture wounds are deep, but uninfected. He’ll need to rest for a few days at minimum, and by then the marks will have disappeared as well,”

Stiles mentally spluttered, or at least he thought he did. Because the smallest of scoffs passed his lips and he managed to raise his eyebrows very slightly.

“Hey, hey did you just see that?”

“Relax, Scott. He’s just waking up,”

“ _I know that Derek!_ But I didn’t know anyone else had seen him,”

“We’ve been watching him for the past two hours. I think we’d recognise _any_ sort of movement he made,”

“Well sorry for showing concern,”

“You’re not showing concern,” another growl came again. “Showing concern would be noticing his absence after Malia returning and going out to-,”

 

“I’d really appreciate it if you stopped talking about me like I couldn’t hear you- which I can, by the way,” Stiles broke in, opening his eyes. The bickering lately had reached stages of annoying. “If you want I can leave, but you’ll need to untie me first,”

All three of them looked down at him, blinking once or twice, and then letting out various sighs of relief. Scott gave him a wary smile, clumping him gently on the shoulder. Deaton nodded then scribbled whatever notes he needed about Stiles onto a clipboard, muttering faintly.

 

“Dude, don’t do that to me,” Scott breathed, grin widening “I seriously thought you’d landed yourself in some crazy shit all over again,”

“Nah, I couldn’t do that to you,” Stiles smirked, slowly sitting up. He put his weight on his arms, noticing how his stomach felt a little too tight to be normal. Peering down, Stiles noticed countless bandages wrapped around his abdomen, different antiseptics leaking out from open flaps. Also, he was very noticeably shirtless. His bare chest on show to all three men. It wasn’t really a problem with Scott, because they’d taken baths together before. There was nothing the other hadn’t seen. And Deaton had cleaned so many of his wounds he probably knew Stiles’ body structure better than he did. In the most non-creepy way possible.

But Derek, come on. It was hard not to feel self-conscious when sitting half-naked next to a guy who looked like he ate weights for breakfast. Stiles had certainly grown into his body over the years of lacrosse practice. And puberty. Which had ended up working in his favour towards the last few stages of Stiles’ teenage years. Sadly “lean” couldn’t hold a handle to “body builder’s body builder”

 

“Are you feeling any pain, Stiles?” Deaton asked, putting his board down and reaching for a bottle of water that lay near the worktop. “You were out for quite a while,”

“How long is a while?” Stiles frowned, taking the water from Deaton. He gulped it down gratefully, relishing the cool splash down his raw throat. His mouth lost the dry feel it had, and soon there was only empty plastic resting by Stiles.

“Well, I’d say it’s been nearly three hours since Derek found you, and looking at the clock you were unconscious for almost half a day,”

“Whoa, _seriously!_ ” Stiles choked. “That’s like twelve whole hours,”

“Indeed Stiles. And you’re extreme-,”

“Wait,” Stiles interrupted, mentally rewinding. “You said _Derek_ found me? That Derek?” Stiles pointed to the scowling wolf that was currently leaning against the doorway.

A snort came from him, and the Hale eye-roll was once again displayed, “No idiot, he meant the _other_ Derek that knows you and would personally carry you all the way to Beacon Hill’s only veterinarian,”

“For your information, I _do_ know another Derek,” Stiles lied, narrowing his eyes at Derek. God, this guy could piss him off.

“I’m sure you do,” he muttered, raising his eyebrows.

 

Before Stiles could retaliate, Scott butted in, “But you really fucked your tummy up, bro,” Stiles peered down at the bandages, wondering what they were covering.

“I suggest you try to recall what you saw, Stiles,” Deaton advised. “You’re lower abdomen suffered some serious damage. I can’t place what kind of necromancy was used in this situation, but hopefully it won’t take too long to find out,”

“Necromancy?” Stiles echoed, “You mean magic?” Stiles had really expected all this crazy magic fuckery to be over and done with. With something new targeting the only human in one of the very few known packs, his chances of survival were dropping at an alarming rate.

 

“Black magic, if we’re being specific. I discovered dark vine-shaped marks spread across your stomach, ones that I’ve never assessed before. If I can match them to any kind of creature, it won’t be hard to locate what did this and what they symbolise. But for now, these imprints are all I have,”

“So you don’t know who attacked Stiles?” Scott piped up, worrying his lower lip.

“Apparently it’s more of a question of _what_ did this, not _who._ Regrettably, I’m afraid that I have no resources or valuable information that can benefit us, but Stiles here might,” Deaton turned to face him, tilting his head to one side, yet still showing no real feeling on his face. How this guy managed to keep a constant poker face, Stiles would never understand. “Do you remember what you saw Stiles?”

Stiles cranes his neck upwards, and closes his eyes. Random of flashes of light bounce in and out of his memory, but nothing else. He can’t remember a face, or a person. Or any sort of creature. No sights or sounds come to mind, no places or scenes. Hell, he can barely remember Malia. When Stiles woke up, he’d felt weirdly aware of what had just happened, but thinking back, he hadn’t identified anything properly. His thoughts were once again a haze, but only now slightly more controlled. His head felt heavy, but he pushed harder, willing himself to commit to the memory once more. A glimpse of trees, a sudden sound of water, that was all Stiles could recollect. That was all. That - and….

“Derek,”

Three heads spun to face him, eyes wide with diverse arrays of surprise.

“I remember Derek,” Stiles mutters softly, to no one in particular. He lowers his gaze down to floor, mentally cringing at how sappy it sounded.

“What do you mean?” Scott enquired, frowning at Stiles. “Derek was with me most of the time. We only separated when he caught your scent. And even then he wasn’t away from more than a few minutes,”

“No, not like that,” Stiles shook his head, as the memories slowly returned to him, in small snippets. “He was there in some strange hallucination thing. Like, I was having an out of body experience, only I was completely alert and shit. It was almost like a dream, but I felt too awake for it to seem like one,”

“Interesting,” Deaton murmurs, reaching for his clipboard once more. “And was it only Derek?”

“Well, the memories were pretty ‘Derek focused’, but other people were there too,”

The other person being Scott. “I don’t know what it signifies, but it seemed really deep,” Stiles looks up at Derek and smirks. “I think this was a sign or something, for us to redo our relationship vows or something. Rebuild our former bro-pact,”

Derek’s expression stays motionless, “How hard did you hit your head Stiles?” he quipped, glaring at the boy.

“Nope, definitely not a sign for that,” Stiles glares back, “I don’t know why I wanted to get a closer bond in the first place,”

“What?”

“Nothing,” Stiles sighs, eyelids unexpectedly feeling like they weighed the weight of a thousand worlds. His back was hurting, and he really wanted to get some sleep. Even if he had been passed out for a dozen hours. “Just a thought I thought that might’ve have been a good thought that turned out to not be a very good thought at all,”

“Dude, you’re rambling,” Scott smiled gently, placing a hand on his shoulder.

“Yeah, no shit Sherlock. That’s what happens when you’re physically and mentally drained,”

“I wish I could let you go home, Stiles,” Deaton declared, “But I have a few more questions,”

“Shoot,” Stiles sighs warily.

“Do you remember anything before these ‘dreams’,”

 

Stiles closed his eyes once more, feeling weak and absolutely exhausted. His shoulders were straining to keep straight, and he was near to tipping over the bed. But he pushes one last time, using almost every ounce of strength he has left. His mind throbs, and his head aches, yet somehow he sees a swift vision of a woman dressed in white, floating towards him.

“I remember an angel,” Stiles opens his eyes, looking directly at Deaton. “She was beautiful, completely and totally mesmerising. It was like she was a faerie, or some sort of woodland goddess,”

Deaton frowned, flipping through his pages. “Carry on, Stiles,”

“She was dressed in this long white dress, and, and I think, I think that- that she was looking for me. Or had been. I don’t know,”

 

Deaton looked so conflicted Stiles almost felt sorry for the man. Derek and Scott were both facing him too, so there was a lot of pressure on the poor guy.

“So Doc,” Stiles rubbed his hands together nervously, “What supernatural element has decided to drag it’s ass over to Beacon Hills now?”

Deaton’s eyebrows seem to furrow even lower, so low that Stiles felt Derek should be jealous. His eyes skimmed the pages of his notes, as the other three were seemingly silent. Scott gave a squeeze to Stiles’ shoulder, and Stiles looked up, sharing a nervous smile with his best friend. Scott would know how to handle whatever this was, he always did. That’s why he was given the name “True Alpha”. Stiles could rely on him twenty-four seven. But the other werewolf in the room, now he would be a problem.

 Stiles’ gaze drifted away from Scott and over to Derek, who was breathing heavily through his nose. Even a blind man would be able to see the time bomb ticking away inside of him, ready to explode the minute Deaton spoke. Stiles knew that Derek didn’t take to new visitors lightly, if at all. He was possessive about the Hale grounds, and rightfully so. Plus, many paranormal creatures couldn’t always be classified as Derek’s best friend. What, with them constantly trying to kill him and all. Stiles could relate.

“Deaton?” Derek growled, jaw clenching “What are we dealing with,”

 

With once final look over his notes, Deaton sighed and put down the clipboard. Looking up to meet Stiles with a worryingly nauseas look, he admitted, “I’m afraid that I don’t quite know,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH! What is wrong with me. I don't know.
> 
> Hope you liked the chapter, and I'll be updating regularly from now. Every Wednesday, a new chapter. *virtual pinky promise*
> 
> Thanks once again for all the kudos and commets and sunfowers. I can't beleive you're all so nice!!!
> 
> -Gobi


	5. The Good, The Bad and The Seriously Messed Up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Have you been experiencing any strange behaviour from your being, or towards you, even?”  
> Stiles blinked. And blinked again. Then he opened his mouth. Only to snap it shut seconds after.   
> Yes. Yes, people had been acting strange. No, not strange. Completely friggen, off-your-rocket-bat-shit-crazy insane. Well, that was a bit of an overstatement. They had been out of character. “They” being Malia.   
> But how do you explain to a forty-something doctor that your girlfriend is acting weird and it’s definitely not her period or some crazy werewolf full moon-induced hormones because when they drop by for a visit it only makes her horny.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! New chapter here.
> 
> Things get slightly tense in this chapter. A few disputes and whatnot. The way people act in the chapter are how i feel there were all acting before the fic. I think Derek has a few problems but he is warming up to others. The rest of the pack get on well, but different people have different issues.
> 
> There's going to be an OC come in? Tell me what yous think in the comments!  
> Thanks so much for everything guys
> 
> -Gobi

“Take one in the morning and one before you sleep,” Deaton advised, giving Stiles a bottle of pills. The word **Haloperidol** was written across in large bold letters, “They’ll stop you from hallucinations or visions,”

Stiles tilted his head to the side, squinting suspiciously, “Since when were you a pharmacist? The last time I remember name on your door still says veterinarian,”

Deaton blatantly ignored him, filling out a few forms and handing them in tow, “You might want to start taking precautions of sorts. I don’t think Beacon Hills is safe enough, right now, to be going around on your own. Make sure you have at least one member of the pack with you at all times,”

 “Just me?” Stiles questioned, unable to hide the edge to his voice “Are we going maximum security protection for the weakling of the group?”

“Do you want to encounter this unknown creature on your own?” Deaton calmly stated, showing no expression.

“Uh, no?”

“Then I suggest you find a companion that may be of use, if you were to find yourself in such a situation,”

There wasn’t exactly a whole lot Stiles could say to that. It was common knowledge that he couldn’t protect himself as well as some of the others in the pack. He didn’t have claws or fangs. There wasn’t a totally bad ass Katana or an impressive SIG Sauer P2 26 stored away in his back pocket. Hell, Stiles couldn’t even scream loud enough for someone further than 10 feet to hear him. A baseball bat wouldn’t defend him forever, that was guaranteed.

But it wasn’t like Stiles _needed_ to be rescued, because he didn’t. Half the time, people just _happened_ to be there. And they felt obliged to help a young fellow. There was no shame in that.

 

Yet he knew that he’d relied on Scott to save his ass more than he hugged the guy. Which was a lot. Because sometimes when it’s late, you’re feeling vulnerable, and for a nameless reason Thomas J. Sennet just _has_ to die, it’s hard not to snuggle into the bug lump of Alpha squashed next to you. They have a close relationship, don’t judge.

 

At least they _did_. Now it was like Stiles popped up from time to time when Scott wasn’t engrossed with his own life. Which Stiles was fine with, by the way. He had learnt to accept the fact that the two wouldn’t always be entwined at the hip. There will always be factors of his life he could appreciate other than Scott. Like Malia….

 

“If you feel like you’re struggling to concentrate or focus, just say so and we can find something else that you could take,”

 

Stiles shook his head, hopping off the platform and heading for the door, “No need, Deaton. That’s what Adderall’s for,”

Deaton frowned, giving Stiles such a peculiar look, it made him stop in his tracks and face the man properly. An awkward silence settled between them, and Stiles could make out the sounds of Scott and Derek bickering in the room next to theirs.

“Stiles, is everything alright?”

Huh? He wasn’t expecting that. Deaton’s frowny faces usually had an “oh, by the way, you’re most likely going to die now. Random figures and hallucinations appearing are symptoms of unexplained vindictive death” following in pursuit. Uncomfortable, yet slightly touching concern had never really been on the agenda.

“Me? What? Yeah, I-I’m… Uhhh, I’m good, you know. Like, yeah. Good. Me. That’s, uh, that’s what…. It’s what I am. Good,” Stiles assured, being so convincing he almost didn’t believe it. Deaton tilted his head in suspicion, obviously not buying Stiles’ act. Which was weird, seeing as it was a five-star performance. Seriously, why wasn’t he at a drama club or something? He would definitely be able to pull it off.

“Have you been experiencing any strange behaviour from your being, or towards you, even?”

Stiles blinked. And blinked again. Then he opened his mouth. Only to snap it shut seconds after.

Yes. Yes, people _had_ been acting strange. No, not strange. Completely friggen, off-your-rocket-bat-shit-crazy insane. Well, that was a bit of an overstatement. They had been out of character. “They” being Malia.

But how do you explain to a forty-something doctor that your girlfriend is acting weird and it’s definitely not her period or some crazy werewolf full moon-induced hormones because when they drop by for a visit it only makes her horny. And a horny eighteen year-old girl was _not_ something Stiles would object to. _Ever_.

“Um, nothing really. A few odd looks at school, but hey, that’s normal,” Stiles shrugged off, giving his most compelling smile that he could give. Because Stilinski’s were charmers, and Stiles didn’t want a suspicious doctor on his back. He could carry a heavy load, not half the people situated in Beacon Hills.

Deaton gave a slow nod, and then turned away from Stiles, rummaging through some cupboards. Stiles took that as his cue to leave, striding out of the room and bursting open the doors, flourishing his arms.

 

Only to be met with the sight of a Civil War commencing in the middle of the waiting room. Oh wait, no. It was just a wolfed-out Scott and an almost wolfed-out but still very frustrated looking Derek.

 

Uh oh. Two pissed off werewolves really couldn’t be combo Stiles was ready to deal with right now. But if you throw in a dead body, an abandoned building and some damaged piece of wreckage and Hey Presto! You’ve got yourself a regular Friday night.

Stiles walked over to Scott, gently tugging him away from Derek.

“Yo, guys? Bad time? You, uh, you look, kinda, angry? We should maybe, um, take a few steps back,” Stiles attempted, managing to free Scott from his glare-off, hoping that those were-whisperer classes he took would finally pay off. But then he remembered he wasn’t Harry Potter and these were wolves, not snakes. And this was Beacon Hills Veterinary Clinic. Not the great-fucking-dining hall at Hogwarts. Also, he was speaking English. _Not_ Parseltongue. 

 

Derek let out a heated breath of air from his nose, nostrils flaring. His face was moulded back into its natural position, his eyebrows winning the game for him. Stiles always had Scott’s back, but even he had to give it to Derek. You couldn’t scowl like him if you tried.

 

“Scott needs to learn to start taking some _initiative_ for his pack,” Derek growled out, voice echoing through the silence of the office. “You’re life was at stake, and the so-called _Alpha_ of your pack hadn’t even realised you were missing,”

“I did realise,” Scott declared, struggling against Stiles. If he wolfed out, Stiles wouldn’t be able to hold him down. “I realised and I called everyone I knew!”

“After he had been gone for twelve fucking hours!” Derek roared, the intensity of his yell shaking the room. Stiles was amazed Deaton hadn’t rushed back in already. Damn, where was that guarded impertinent doctor when you need him?

“It’s not like you noticed either,” Scott maundered sourly, looking sullen. Stiles knew he wasn’t one to back down from an argument, but it wasn’t hard to feel dismayed whenever Derek shouted.

“No, but I was wary of it,” Derek snarled, leaning in to face Scott. “I knew something was wrong, but _you_ ,” he sneered, giving Scott the most distrusting look Stiles had ever seen, “You were so caught up in your own problems you somehow _forgot_ there was someone called Stiles, and that he hadn’t been around for _HALF THE FUCKING DAY!”_

Stiles was frozen in bewilderment, at how stimulated Derek was.

“You call yourself an alpha,” he spat, spinning on his heel and marching away. He stopped just before the door, looking back over his shoulder and glowering one last time, “But you don’t even think about your major priorities,”

 

And with that he stomped out, leaving the two stunned. Scott had his mouth hanging open, and as much as Stiles wanted to remark about catching flies, he knew he had to bro-up a little.

“What a jerk,” Stiles muttered, looking up at Scott “Some people have no chill,”

Scott turned away from Stiles’ gaze, cheeks flushing, “What he said was true, though,”

“Says who? The alpha rights law?” Stiles scoffed “Listen bud, I know you, and you always, _always_ , put other people before yourself. Dude, you make Nobel Prize winners look bad,”

Scott gave a soft chuckle, “Thanks, man,”

“Don’t mention it,” Stiles tenderly punched Scott on the shoulder, “Derek’s probably just jealous of you,”

Scott frowned, shaking his head. He and Derek never had been the best of friends, that was a known fact, but there had been a considerable improvement over the last couple of years. Lately though, it had turned a little bit edgy.

Before, it was always Derek who was tensed, all coiled up like a wire, and Scott had a constant smile on his face. These days, Stiles sometimes caught Derek _laughing_. Which was crazy. Like, totally unreal. It was frightening how much a person could change, if you just lightened the load a little.

 _I guess that’s what love can do for a girl_.

Or a guy. Because as far as Stiles knew, Derek had little to no feminine qualities what-so-ever. The guy was a solid wall of masculinity and testosterone. He put Lebron James to shame.

                                                                                                

“Derek’s different now,” Scott sighed.

“Dude,” Stiles pulled Scott out of the clinic “Derek’s _in love_. I always thought he’d live the life of a hermit crab, or something. But the guy is _whipped_ for Braeden,”

For some unfamiliar speculation, Stiles felt his chest tug slightly when he admitted that. His back suddenly felt tense, and he wiggled his shoulders, starching out his muscles. He’d been lying down for way to long, his limbs were stiff.

“Yeah,” Scott smirked, “He’s basically her bitch. And you remember all the shit he gave me for Allison?”

Stiles nodded mutely, unable to shake of the closeted feeling. His bones seemed rigid, like he was being compressed into a can of tuna.

“Uh hu,”

“Dude,” Scott peered down at him, concern flashing across his face “Snap out of, man,”

“Sorry,” Stiles shook his head, casting his thoughts away. “Just, um, tired,”

Scott’s eyes went wide, and he slapped a palm to his forehead. “Of course, bro. You must be completely out of it,”

“What can I say?” Stiles grinned “My body is used to getting either four, or fourteen hours of sleep. Twelve has completely disrupted my schedule,”

 

Scott let out a laugh, steering Stiles in the direction of the parking lot, “Well don’t worry. I remembered to bring your Jeep. I’ll drop you off at your place, and then walk back to mine,”

Stiles’ immediately felt his spirits rising “My baby’s here?”

He didn’t know how they’d found his Jeep, seeing as the last time he’d driven her was when he decided to half a nice trek through the woods in the middle of the night.

Regardless, he was glad she was safe. If anything happened to Roscoe, Stiles was almost one hundred percent sure he’d have a mental breakdown. And deranged Stiles would definitely do some midlife crisis shit. He was pretty sure he’d go full-on Tony Stark crazy.

Looking onward, he could only just make out the blue glint in the evening light. Stiles gave a grin so wide, he was positive his cheeks deformed.

“Dude, you look like the Joker,” Scott joked, handing over the keys to Stiles. Snatching them, he whipped round and opened the door.

“And you look like Rafiki, but hey, nobody’s perfect,”

 

 

 

~~~~

 

 

A comfortable silence settled between the boys on the car journey back. Neither of them had mentioned Deaton though, and that no one knew what had attacked Stiles.

 

The vision was clearing up in his head, and Stiles could almost picture her (he wasn’t sure if she had any particular sexuality, but for now he was labelling the creature female) once again. He could vaguely remember miniscule details about her, mentally listing everything he knew.

 

**1)** **She was able to fly – in a way**

**2)** **She had the ability to induce and hypnotise a person to sleep**

**3)** **She’s either magically induced, or she carries around strings of LED lights that glow automatically**

**4)** **She has hair**

**5)** **And hands**

**6)** **And a reason to hide her “physique”**

**7)** **She’s surprisingly alike to Galadriel**

 

That was all. And if she _was_ Galadriel then Stiles was literally done. With everything. The cast of Supernatural could go fuck themselves because shit in Beacon Hills just crossed the border. And entered into a fricken parallel universe. Where Stiles’ was fate’s bitch. Because nothing was more fucked up than the one and only Kate Blanchet coming over and giving Stiles freaky Derek-Dreams.

 

He sighed pitifully, beating his fingers against the window. It was only just after seven, but the sky was already darkening. And with the speed Scott was driving at, by the time they’d reach Stiles’ place it would be pitch black. Looking over, he saw Scott gnawing away at his bottom lip, practically oozing with questions.

 

“Spit it out, bud”

“Dude,” Scott started, and Stiles already knew he was going to dread the conversation. “I’m sorry Deaton didn’t know about the angel,”

“She wasn’t an angel Scott,” Stiles muttered agitatedly, burying his face into his hands. How do you explain Galadriel popping up to say ‘Hi there little human! I’m going to put you to sleep now’

“She was, like, something out of a fairytale slash ghost busters mix. She didn’t say anything, at least nothing I heard,”

“Hmmm,” Scott murmured thoughtfully, “And what about the dreams?”

Stiles felt his neck burning up, and turned away to look out the window. The smudge in the top left corner was suddenly very interesting. Had that always been there? Come on, how often do you see a smudge, _a smudge_ , on your window. Peering more closely, he now noticed it was in the shape of Africa.

“ _Stiles_ ,”

“Yeah,”

“The dreams?”

“What dreams?”

Scott groaned, obviously aggravated. Stiles knew he only had good intentions, but he wasn’t too comfortable going into detail about the…..speculation.

 

Derek was a cool guy and all, but Stiles felt that the needed association should be, somewhat discreet. He didn’t want to shout out from the rooftops that he was wandering into uncharted areas, and would most likely never return. Derek had become slightly more approachable, but that didn’t necessarily mean they were freaking bonding buddies. He’d have to start slow, get to know the guy a little better. As big of a dick Derek was, it was unconcealed that the guy had gone through some pretty rough roads in the past. And Stiles, being the ever-loving pack mate, was determined to break a few of those walls. He was tight with almost everyone else in the pack, but the strings weren’t so secure with Derek. If anything, they knew the least about each other. And who knows? It might even be refreshing to converse with Derek. Maybe they shared similar interests. Such as… Yeah there was nothing. Which was why Stiles was determined to dig a little deeper and find out why Derek was a tomb of melancholy.

 

He mentally made a promise to himself. Operation become-Derek’s-new-best-friend-so-no-one-suffers-the-death-glare-on-a-daily-basis-or-spontaniously-combusts-because-he’s-just-too-fucking-depressed was officially a go.

 

“I’m… envisaging,” Stiles determined. That was the most accurate word that could be used for the current standpoint. Apparently Scott wasn’t seeing it from his view point because he was looking at Stiles discontentedly. The same way he looked when he was trying to telepathically communicate the message “Bro, you’re bullshitting”

“You’re bullshitting,” Scott huffed.

_Called it_

“I’m simply saying it as it is,” Stiles declared. Jeez, his best friend couldn’t even understand how his messed up brain pinned down his problems. “I can sleep on it, and tomorrow I’ll deal. Because personally, I’m a fan-,”

“-Of ignoring a problem until it eventually just goes away,” Scott concluded, raising an eyebrow.

“Kill joy,” Stiles grumbled, slouching down in his seat. Scott only snickered, turning down into Stiles’ street.

“Dude, you’ve used that line way too many times,”

“That doesn’t mean you get to finish it off! This is a case of plagiarism!” Stiles exclaimed, flailing his arms. “I could very well sue you, Scott McCall,”

“Not if I sue you first!” Scott dared cheekily, turning off the ignition. “I could take your Jeep,” he placed a mendacious hand on the door, grinning slyly.

“Are you, _threatening_ me? Threatening my _baby?_ ” Stiles gasped, clasping his chest. Scott threw his head back and laughed. Stiles failed to suppress a smile of his own. It had been so long since they’d acted this freely around each other. The past few days had been tense for Stiles, and Scott was the perfect comrade to help him forget his dilemmas.

“Hey, you want to come inside for a while? I got an Xbox with our names on it,” Stiles offered, gesturing to his house. He couldn’t for the life of him remember the last time the two had battled it out in Halo, relieving some serious tension.

 

Scott cast his eyes away, looking uncomfortable, “Uh, I have a date with Kira today. We were going to get dinner at that new, uh, Italian pizza place, and um, my mom’s not home, so…,” he trailed off grinning sheepishly. It was fair to say that Scott was definitely a man of few words.

Stiles tried not to feel too rejected. He knew that it was unlikely Scott would’ve had any time to spare, even if it was a Sunday evening. The guy _did_ have his own mind. He had his own fucking life. Why was it that Stiles still felt abandoned after all this time, when Scott had a date? It wasn’t like he was blowing Stiles off. Figuratively, not literally. Because straight as a line, here.

“Hey, no, bro, it’s cool. If you gotta get laid, you gotta get laid, right?” Stiles reassured, attempting to keep the adversity from showing on his face. Whether he was successful or not, it didn’t matter, as Scott was back to looking like the cat that’d gotten the entire barrel of cream.

“Thanks man, I’ll see you tomorrow,” Scott beamed, opening the door and slipping out the car. He walked out of the driveway with a wave, disappearing over the hedge. Once Stiles was sure he was out of ear-shot, he let out a despondent groan, hitting his head off the window. He was exhausted, and his muscles felt like they were going to ignite at the slightest movement made. He would need to avoid that situation. His dad was going through a ton of shit at work; Stiles didn’t to have him deal with a burning body out on the front porch.

_SHIT_

Stiles had completely forgotten about his dad. What was he going to say when Stiles’ showed up after a whole day of nonappearance?

“Hey, son! Glad you’re not dead. I’m not going to shout because I’m a sarcastic, hypothetical version of your dad who will indeed shout. A lot. So get ready for a very slow and painful death, kid,”

That might actually be even worse than reality. Sarcastic hypothetical dad was disturbingly creepy.

No one had told him what they’d explained to the sheriff. Stiles felt his stomach drop at the thought of his dad worrying, pacing the floor, calling Stiles over and over again, only to receive his voicemail. The Devil was probably watching him from below with pride. Inconsiderate and selfish. Fantastic. Just fantastic.

_I’m the worst son ever._

 

Stiles jumped out of his jeep, running up to the door and whipping out his keys. Opening the lock, he burst into a dark hallway, frantic to find the Sheriff and reassure him he was very much alive and not decomposing in some ditch with a goblin dancing on his remains. Which could very well happen.

“HEY DAD!” Stiles called, bracing himself for the rage waiting for him.

 

Had Stiles gone deaf? Perhaps his dad yelled so loudly his hearing had suddenly impaired? Ear plugs were a reliable ally when hanging around with wolves that howled and roared like everyone could handle their volume of noise. Which was odd, seeing as they were the ones with sensitive hearing.

“Dad?” Stiles tried again, wandering into the kitchen. The lights were off, and the mess was the same from when he’d left to go for Derek’s pack meeting.

His dad hadn’t even arrived home. The sheriff didn’t know where Stiles was, or where he had been. He didn’t know Stiles had even been missing.

 

Walking out of the house, he peered into the driveway, noticing the lack of a certain cruiser. How had he not seen the empty space before?

He pulled his phone from his pocket turning it on. Only a few minutes ago, he was sure there would’ve been a collection of messages waiting for him. Now, Stiles face only went slack as the empty screen flashed at him, blank and barren.

 

~~~~

 

 

There was a werewolf staring down at him. A very angry werewolf, with dark eyebrows and a square jaw. His face was contorted into a scowl, and Stiles blinked a few times, hoping he could turn the frown upside down from the sheer, strong force of want. Which wasn’t much, because it was the morning. And no one’s brain worked in the morning.

And plus, there was a werewolf staring down at him. A freaking werewolf. Huh, a werewolf.

 

_WHAT!?!?_

“DUDE!” Stiles jumped up from under the covers, whacking his skull off of the headboard. “What the fucking hell are you doing here?”

Derek raised an eyebrow, clearly not amused, “Scott can’t make it today, so I need to take you to school,”

Stiles winced, rubbing the back of his head. “Okay, that’s cool. But you could have called, like a normal person. Or even snuck in and waited by my chair. Because quite frankly, I thought we were past the whole stalker stage,” Why didn’t the guy give a heads up sometimes? Stiles knew Derek was borderline creepy, but the wolf seriously needed a manual or something. A pamphlet? One on how to behave like a civil human being and not freak others out whilst thinking it was perfectly regular. Oh wait, Derek wasn’t human. And he certainly wasn’t civil. Or the tiniest bit regular, for that matter. He was a supernatural creature with the capability of freezing a person with his award-winning death glare. With was inspiring, if you were into that sort of thing.

“I did call,” Derek stated, “Sixteen times. Then I drove here and your dad let me in through the front door,” He paused, smirking slightly. “Like a normal person,”

Stiles groaned, swinging his legs out of the bed and making his way out if the bedroom. “Well then wake me up instead of watching me in my sleep. No, in fact, don’t wake me up. It’s too fucking early for this shit,”

“It’s half nine,” Derek picked up a pair of jeans, thrusting them in Stiles’ face, “School started an hour ago,”

 

 

 

~~~~

 

 

 

_Shitshitshitshitshit_

That was going through Stiles’ head the entire ride to school. He was so fucking late, and he was so screwed, and Mr. Harris was going to give him detention for life. The guy had some serious problems. This was going to look really bad for his class-presidency. Lydia would be giving the talk at graduation by herself at this rate. And didn’t he sit next to Malia in a bunch of classes today? Great, that would work out just-

 

“Stop thinking,”

 

Stiles stopped mid-mental rant, twisting his body to gape at Derek. “Stop _thinking_? Do you think that’s even remotely possible for someone who has ADHD?” his arms flew around the car, making gestures that a blind man would’ve been able to see. “My attention is constantly being dragged off to different sources and there is nothing in my power that I can do to stop it! My entire life revolves around trying to focus on one thing and one thing only, while not being the most obnoxious human on the planet! I deserve a medal for my persistence in this cruel, judgemental world. All you need to do is breathe, and you’re fine. I need to breathe then think about breathing, and then breathe again. Do you know how hard that is? I need to _breathe_!”

Derek probably _stopped_ breathing in that moment, and just looked at Stiles like he had recited “As You Like It” backwards. In Spanish. With Czechoslovakian subtitles appearing underneath. Wearing a monkey suit.

_Too far Stiles_

“I may have forgotten to take my Adderall this morning,” Stiles’ admitted weakly, scratching his neck.

“Really? I didn’t notice,” Derek mocked dryly, facing the road again.

“Dick,” Stiles muttered underneath his breath.

“I’m the one driving your sorry ass to school,” Derek snipped, snidely.

“I didn’t ask you to,”

“I know,” Derek replied, “But Scott did,” there was an edge to his voice, and Stiles couldn’t make out whether it had been intentional or not.

The car was silent, like it had been before, but now it was awkward and uncomfortable. And Stiles was the worst when it came to awkward silences. His brain-to-mouth filter was so weak he would have sung the entire Sound of Music soundtrack just to have some noise in the background. He made quite the convincing Maria if he put his mind to it.

But one look at Derek and any ideas of singing were cast out of the window with an adios, and far away into the Alps.

_*Drum Symbol*_

_Reel it in Stiles._

 

The werewolf was grinding jaw like he meant business, burning holes into the windscreen. Which was a shame, because it hadn’t even done anything. Trust Derek to treat the inanimate objects of his jeep unjustly.

“Hey, Dude, relax,” Stiles cautiously lifted his hand up, reaching out to touch Derek.  Then he remembered the guy was allergic to nice things coming from people like Stiles. Freezing, he stopped abruptly, arm hanging aimlessly in mid air. Stiles was secretly hoping the sight of a sweaty palm would capture Derek’s sanity. Don’t judge.

“You look like you’re going to go full wolf whilst driving. And you seem like a good driver, but I don’t know how well you’d work the steering wheel without opposable thumbs,”

“Shut up, Stiles,” Derek growled, “I’m not going to shift in the car, where countless witnesses would be able to see my tear your head off,” he gave a savage smirk, eyes barbaric. “We’ll need to go somewhere more secluded, and where it would be easy of me to dispose your body,”

This is what Stiles meant when he said Derek had loosened up. He _enjoyed_ intimidating Stiles. _It gave him pleasure_ to see Stiles this apprehensive.

“If you didn’t sound so genuine when saying that, I might have praised your logic,” Stiles pulled his arm back in, desperate to keep all of his body parts intact by the end of the ride.

 

“One of the two of us needs to have a working brain,” Derek grinned, showing his whitened pearls. Did the Hale family just come with perfect genetics?

“Oh hardy harr harr, you’re so funny,” Stiles drawled, “Have you always had this hidden talent, or did it just emerge from bottom of the Black Lake, also known as your _soul_ ,”

Derek narrowed his eyes at Stiles, grin immediately dropping, and then switched the engine off. “Oh, look at that. We seem to be at your school,” He unlocked the car, “So get the fuck out,”

Stiles looked around, and sure enough, cars were parked all around them. He unbuckled his belt, and opened the door of the Camaro. “I’d say thanks,” Stiles informed, sliding out “But you’re an asshole,”

 

He walked towards the school, laughing when Derek flipped him off.

 

Yep. Getting closer to the guy would be a piece of cheese cake.

 

 

~~~~

 

Stiles pulled out a chair and sat down at his usual lunch table. Lydia and Liam were the only others currently there. They looked up when he arrived, expressing utter surprise on their faces. Lydia quickly composed herself, though, and pointed to the chair.

“Sit,” she demanded, flicking her hair away from her face.

Stiles rolled his eyes at her bluntness, but didn’t dare to object. Lydia was frankly the most frightening person he’d ever met, and questioning her requests would lead to… Lord knows what. She was able to overawe Derek on a good day.

 

“So, Stiles,” Lydia began, leaning forward on her elbows, giving a sickeningly sweet smile, it was almost _too_ fake. “Tell us what happened to you, and why I wasn’t notified the minute you were found?”

“Don’t go all Nancy Drew on me, Lyds. Direct conversation isn’t even in my vocabulary right now. I only woke up two hours ago,”

“And you were _found_ almost an entire twenty-four hours ago! As surprising as it may seem, we were all worried about you Stiles! Half of us stayed awake the night waiting for Scott or Derek to call in. To find out from _Kira_ , this morning, is ridiculous!” Lydia cried.

Stiles could only gawp. She seemed genuinely concerned, her cheeks flushing the more she spoke. Guilt immediately sunk into his stomach. He’d only thought about his dad stressing about him. Not once had it crossed his mind that maybe the pack may have been fearful for his wellbeing additionally.

“God, Lydia. I’m sorry,” Stiles stammered, “I didn’t even think to-,”

“No,” Lydia butt in, “You didn’t. Correction. You _don’t_. You don’t think about your actions and the kind of consequences they could have,” She looked him dead in the eye, and something in Stiles churned, like she was finding out everything that had been occurring lately, and silently judging his actions.

 

“What were you doing at the preserve in the middle of the night?”  


Stiles saw Liam looking at him perplexed. He had forgotten the guy was even there, he’d been so quiet.

“Um, gathering my thoughts?” Stiles attempted, hoping he wouldn’t have to bring up the subject of Malia. Stiles had had the luck of being in completely different classes to her, so far today. But Calculus was waiting for him, where he was positioned directly in front of her. Hopefully an intergalactic army of some sort, attacked earth, and the entire human race was forced to evacuate the planet. That way, he might miss the opportunity of interacting with his ex.

Wow, first time Stiles had ever even labelled Malia as an ex. It felt weird.

 

“Stiles!” a gleeful voice called from behind him. Turning around, he saw Kira bouncing towards the table, a huge grin plastered onto her face. “I’m so happy you’re alright!”

He couldn’t help smiling back. Her cheerfulness was regrettably contagious.

“As am I,” Stiles beamed gesturing to chair next to him. She slipped in, placing her tray onto the counter. Stiles observed that she was unaccompanied, her usual lap dog nowhere near them.

“Hey, where’s Scott?” Stiles asked, looking around the hall.

“Oh, he’s with to that guy Peter thought would be a good addition to the pack,” Kira informed, picking up an apple and biting out a chunk. “They’re near the entrance of the cafeteria,”

Shifting his search over to the doors, Stiles saw Scott talking intently with a boy just about their age. Squinting more closely, a familiarity settled around him, one that Stiles couldn’t place. He knew him from somewhere.

Kira followed his gaze to the two, “Yeah that’s him. I think Scott said his name was-,”

“Theo Raeken,” Stiles finished softly. He remembered him from fourth grade, and Theo leaving Beacon Hills for an unknown reason. Stiles had no idea he was back in town.

“I used to go to school with him,”

Lydia turned around, and gave a noise of agreement. “Yeah, Theo,”

“Well Scott seems to really like him,” Kira put in brightly “And they’re both agreeing on him meeting the pack sometime soon,”

“That’s good,” Liam commented, “With this new ‘angel’ in town, we’ll need all the help we can get,”

“SHE WASN’T AN ANGEL!” Stiles whined profusely. Of course, no one listened to him.

 

_Damn Scott and his Supernatural addiction!_

 

 

~~~~

 

 

Stiles slouched in his seat, as his calculus teacher strolled in. Easy as it was, calc was _definitely_ not one of his preferred subjects. He could only hope that it went drama-free if and when Malia showed up. Stiles wasn’t ready to get yelled at in front of twenty people.

 

Malia had been an interesting addition to his classes. She stuck around him most of the time, or the others of the pack. Stiles had yet to see her interact with any of the other people in school, but who was he to judge? He had lived most of his life with Scott and Scott only. Bing social for Stiles, was like sunlight for a vampire. He hissed at it, and went off to find somewhere dark and isolated.

 

At that moment, Malia strode in. She looked as she usually did. There was nothing different about her. Her hair and clothes were normal, she didn’t have swollen eyes or mascara stained cheeks. She hadn’t gone Goth or Emo in a state of rebellion. Nothing even resembled the fact that she had just broken up with her only ever boyfriend.

 

Teen movies really taught you fuck-all about reality.

 

When she caught his eye, Malia froze mid-step. Her eyes widened, and her mouth fell slightly open. Why was everyone so surprised to see him alive? Stiles was struggling not to feel insulted.

In a flash, Malia had gone from gawking in the door way, to gripping Stiles by his shoulders and checking all aspects of his face.

“Um, Malia?” Stiles croaked, when she stuck her hand up his shirt, feeling around. People had turned their attention to the public display of groping, and a few were already taking videos. “As much as I like you feeling me up, there are people watching us,”

 

Malia glared at them, giving an animalistic growl, but she retracted herself from Stiles all the same. “Are you okay?”

Whoa. Okay, _that_ was a surprise. For a moment there Stiles had been sure she was searching him for a hidden weapon, or a raw cut of deer.

“Me? Yeah, I’m fine,”

Malia sighed, walking towards her seat and sitting down. “I have a lot to say Stiles,” she said softly, leaning over so he could hear, “But I don’t really want to talk when there are millions of ears listening in,”

Stiles nodded, turning around “Yeah, I know what mean,”

She gave him a nervous smile, suddenly looking like the girl who had bashfully kissed him at Eichen House. “Can we meet after school? I promise I won’t flip out,”

“Sure,” Stiles whispered, giving a thumbs up.

 

“Mr. Stilinski, if you have finished with your private discussion, I _do_ have a class to teach,” a voice barked from behind.

 

Stiles whipped round in his chair, sheepishly shrugging, “Sorry, urgent matters,”

“Well take your matters outside of my classroom,” his teacher snipped, walking to a girl standing by the door, “My apologies, Melaena,”

 

The girl gave a wan smile, shaking her head in denial. Stiles had virtually no clue who she was, or what she was doing in his calculus class.

“Now that everyone is settled, I would like to introduce Melaena. She’s new to the school, and I want you all to make her feel very welcome. It might be slightly difficult catching you up with everything seeing as you joined is in the middle of semester,”

The teacher droned on, but Stiles tuned off. He couldn’t stop staring at the girl.

 

“An exchange student,” Stiles heard someone mutter behind him. He didn’t look to see who it was, though. Something about “Melaena” was transfixing him. He wasn’t capable of making out if it were her bronze skin, glowing in the light of the classroom. Or her hair.

Her gorgeous, chestnut hair, which was tumbling in a series of curls, framing her face. Large, brown eyes and rosy heart-shaped lips.

She seemed like a fairytale character, or a Disney princess.

Yet Stiles knew that wasn’t why he was so engrossed with her. There was something else. Something that made him want to gaze at her for hours. Never stop looking at this beautiful creature. There was recognition to her aura, but Stiles was unable to place it.

 

He twisted in his seat to tell Malia about his new found obsession.

 

Only to be met with a scowl that could possibly turn stone to ash. And ash to smoke. And smoke, into a big bowl of nothingness.

 

Yeah, Stiles was definitely not meeting up with Malia after school.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What did you guys think? I don't want Theo to be as big of a character as he is on the show. I think I'll leave out his associations with the dread doctors and stuff.
> 
> And how about that OC?? Tell me what you guys think
> 
> Thanks sooooo much again
> 
> -Gobi


	6. Find me in the Fog

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Slowly turning to face her, Stiles saw that Lydia was shaking, alarmingly. Her face was ghostly pale and blank. Her lips were moving soundlessly, like she was reciting a poem to a deaf person, while being mute herself. (Ha ha, memories) He could make out the faint flutter of her breath, but that was all. Her fingers were no longer clutching the wheel, but instead wrapped around her shoulders, almost as if to comfort herself. Stiles had seen Lydia in this state only a handful of times, and none of them had been the most pleasurable experiences. Something sinister usually struck when Lydia went into auto-banshee mode.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so tired, I don't even know if I'm awake right now, or if life's just being a bitch to me.  
> Anyway, another chapter. Sorry it's a little shorter than the last, please don't kill me.

Stiles had almost walked out of the main doors of his high school when Lydia swiftly stopped in front of him, smiling cunningly.

“Stiles,” she grinned, tilting her head to the side, letting her curls drape over her shoulder.

“Lydia,” Stiles replied reproachfully, taking a deliberate step back. Distance was always a good idea when it came to conversing with Lydia. He loved the girl, it was known to all mankind that he worshipped the very ground she walked on. But an unexpected appearance wasn’t very assuring, and he had the right to feel wary.

“Did you bring your Jeep today,” she asked, keeping her position in the hallway, eyes blinking widely and innocently.

 _DAMN!_ Stiles had gotten a lift from Derek today, and he’d left his baby in the driveway, sitting unused and idle.

He faced-palmed himself at the realization, watching Lydia’s smile turn into a sickeningly smug smirk.

“I thought so,” she said, simply, turning around and marching briskly towards the entrance.

Stiles stood for a moment, gawking slightly, then scrambled to catch up with her.

Why did Lydia have to be so vague sometimes, yet regrettably direct others? You can either be blunt, or sharp, not both! But considering her social status and reputation, Lydia would easily be able to get away with mass murder.

“Wait, wait wait waitwaitwaitwait,” Stiles garbled, struggling to maintain the same pace as her. He was still weak from last night, and physical activity was another action that he had to deduct from his list of capabilities. “What did you mean about my Jeep?”

“I thought it was a rather obvious question,” Lydia stated curtly, facing him and looking exasperated, “I wondered if your Jeep was with you, today. And given your reaction, it’s clearly someplace else,”

“I _mean_ ,” Stiles gritted out, glaring at Lydia’s wit, “ _Why_ did you ask?”

“I wanted to know if you’d brought it. Because there’s no way I’m walking four miles when I’m wearing three inch designer Jimmy Choos. Also, I don’t have my jacket, and it’s pretty cold outside,”

Stiles hurriedly shrugged his hoodie off, but Lydia signalled him to stop with a single finger, “I don’t want your jacket Stiles,” she informed, being her stride once more into the parking lot, “We’ll just turn the heating up in my car,”

This time Stiles was the one to pause Lydia’s saunter, abruptly skidding ahead of her, “Why are we doing _anything_ with your car?”  Nothing was making sense right now.

Lydia rolled her eyes, sighing exaggeratedly, “Because Scott and Malia drove with new-guy Theo to Derek’s loft, and Kira got a lift from Liam. Now, any other day I would go with Parrish but he’s on some case about a group of school kids going missing, soooo,” she raised an eyebrow at Stiles, opening up the passenger door to her car. “You’re driving in chez Lydia today,”

“Is this the Stiles Protection Program, or something?” Stiles huffed, reluctantly getting into the car.

“Nope,” Lydia slipped gracefully in next to him, starting up the car. “This is keeping your ass from getting mauled,”

 

 

~~~~

 

 

“Why do we need to go Derek’s anyway?” Stiles sulked, resting his forehead against the window. Having any driving privileges deducted from you really put you down. Stiles was itching to use the wheel, even sit in the driver’s seat.

It was apparent that Stiles had a worryingly low attention span, but he always felt happily sedated when driving his Jeep. There was peacefulness among him. No worries or queries, nothing on his back. He didn’t having a werewolf barking up his ass, or in his ear. For that matter, manhandling him either. He didn’t have to be concerned of being shoved up against walls, or doors. Under the risk of his throat getting ripped out by Derek.

Okay, he was seriously off track now.

But when Stiles was on the road, the windows down, music playing, there was only one track he had to follow. And as they say, so many roads, so many detours, so many choices, so many mistakes.

Which doesn’t exactly fit in with Stiles’ current train of thought. But that was because he wasn’t driving, so suck it irony.

 

“I mean, Scott and Malia are already there. He’s going to get Kira and Liam-,”

“And Brett,” Lydia interrupted, fiddling with the gear stick.

Stiles frowned, “Who?”

“Brett?” Lydia looked at him earnestly, “The _other_ werewolf?”

Stiles’ mind drew a blank, and he shook his head dejectedly. “Nope, never heard of him,”

Lydia’s face was a mask of disbelief and utter bewilderment, “How can you not remember Brett? You yelled at the guy for being a dick to Liam. The guy you played in lacrosse. Tall, blonde hair, seriously fit,”

Stiles scrunched up his nose and thought hard. He’d met loads of new people over the past few months, but the name Brett couldn’t surface up. “Wait, do you mean Liam’s friend Mason?”

Whoops, wrong thing to say. Stiles could now vaguely make out the vain throbbing in Lydia’s forehead, a sign she was close to flipping out, “If I’d meant Mason, I would have said _Mason_! But. I. Said. BRETT,” she snarled, drawing out every word.

Stiles must truly be an idiot. Like, he must genuinely have some sort of mental dysfunction or something. Because anyone could have realised that it was a treacherous strategy to antagonize Lydia with disregard when she was _this_ close to freaking the fuck out. But, _nah_. Stiles obviously had a death wish. And he ignorantly chooses to spew any shit from his mouth without thinking of the consequences.

“Did we meet him in La Iglesias?”

Lydia groaned, and Stiles could see her knuckles turning white as her grip on the steering wheel tightened, “ _Stiles_ ,” she not-so-subtly threatened, “Brett was the guy that Liam used to hate, the one who Kira saved, the werewolf that was part of Satomi’s pack,”

Stiles desperately tried once more, then gave up, “Nothing. Zilch. Nada,”

Lydia cried out in frustration, slamming her foot down onto the break. The car came to an abrupt stop, jerking Stiles halfway out of his seat before his belt restricted him from going any further.

 

Oh Shit! Stiles had really crossed the line this time. But he couldn’t help it if certain names struggled to stick.

Though it wasn’t that big of a deal. Lydia had never gone ape shit like that before. Sure, it wasn’t a challenge for Stiles to get her pissed. Hell, it wasn’t a challenge for Stiles to get anyone pissed. He’d even managed to get Kiras strained smile out before. If anything, they were achievements. So why was Lydia suddenly acting like Stiles had shat buckets of green unicorn shit all over her car seats?

 

Slowly turning to face her, Stiles saw that Lydia was shaking, alarmingly. Her face was ghostly pale and blank. Her lips were moving soundlessly, like she was reciting a poem to a deaf person, while being mute herself. (Ha ha, memories) He could make out the faint flutter of her breath, but that was all. Her fingers were no longer clutching the wheel, but instead wrapped around her shoulders, almost as if to comfort herself. Stiles had seen Lydia in this state only a handful of times, and none of them had been the most pleasurable experiences. Something sinister usually struck when Lydia went into auto-banshee mode.

 

“Lyds?” Stiles gently reached out, the tips of his fingers brushing Lydia’s bare shoulder. She was ice cold, her layer rough like granite. His unhealthy obsession with her had eased off _ages_ ago, but he still knew that the girl had satin soft skin.

She stayed mostly unmoving, but her green eyes travelled to Stiles’ touch. They widened at the contact, and Stiles readied himself for the ear impairing scream.

And gave a double take when the train passed without stopping. Where was that deafening wail that never failed to impress him? Instead of screeching, Lydia simply unhooked her hands from her arms, and placed them on the wheel again.

“Uh, Lydia? You alright?”

Stiles wasn’t expecting a response, and he never got one. The car started up and carried on driving. How was Lydia even able to function? She was still in her magnetic gaze, face motionless.

Peering slightly more closely at the road, Stiles felt uneasy. He didn’t recognise it at all. In fact, the entire drive had been through an unknown part of Beacon Hills. Stiles had just been too caught up in his moping marathon to notice. The scenery was different to what it usually was, the trees were unfamiliar, and not a soul in sight. Dull clouds hung over in the sky, when the sun had been shining bright in the morning.

“Lydia, where are we going?” Stiles asked nervously. If he was being perfectly honest he’d have to say that freaky Lydia made him apprehensive. She still said nothing, but swerved into the trees, down a worn path. It looked ancient almost, ruined and wrecked. Cracks covered the forest floor, and the leaves lay dead on the ground. A few crows perched on the branches above, staring at Stiles so intently he felt shivers run up his spine.

“Lydia? Please, come on. We need to get to Derek’s place,” Stiles tried once more, earnestly pleading. His stomach felt sick and strained, similar to the pull he’d felt when he broke up with Malia. A wet trail of sweat rolled down his forehead, and Stiles felt his breathing pick up slightly. No, this was bad.

 _Don’t panic. Stay calm._  

Ha. Easier said than done. The twisting feeling had returned, and all Stiles wanted to do was turn the car around and get the hell out of where ever they were. But he had to concentrate on Lydia.

“Lydia, _please_ ,” Stiles begged, grasping at her arm. She shook him off roughly, her lips set into a thin line. “Lydia, just turn the car around. I have a bad feeling about this place,”

Stiles began to hyperventilate slightly. His breaths became heavier, and more stressed. His skin felt tight, small pinpricks of pressure coating him. He wanted to wash the feeling off of his body, scrub himself raw. Stiles wasn’t one to get claustrophobic, but right now he wasn’t far off from being trapped like tuna in a can.

“Lydia, just _stop the fucking car_!” Stiles yelled, reaching out for the wheel. Lydia desperately tried to shove him away with the side of her arm, but to no avail. The trees seemed to be more and more ominous the further in they went, and the path had all but disappeared by now. Stiles hadn’t the slightest clue where they were, and there was no fucking way he wanted to stay any longer.

“LYDIA, FUCKING STOP THE CAR OR I’M SERIOUSLY GONNA END UP-,”

 

The car stopped. It actually stopped. Lydia let go of the wheel and her hands dropped down to her sides. Her face was deathly, her lower lip trembling. Loose strands of hair strung limply from her head, drenched wet from possible perspiration. But Stiles was too relieved to even observe. 

He could hear his heartbeat pounding in his chest, drumming away like his life depended on it. Which, effectively, it did. Stiles could think a little more clearly now, key in on the reality of the situation.

He’d simply had a mini freak-out. That was all. The pressure had got to him, and Stiles hadn’t been able to handle it. No biggie. It happened to everyone at the best of times. But his throat was as dry as sandpaper. Stiles didn’t know how loud he’d shouted at Lydia, but if his tongue was burning this bad, it must have been pretty fucking loud.

 

Stiles opened his mouth to apologise to Lydia, for overreacting. The girl obviously wasn’t it the right state of mind.

But his mouth snapped shut the minute he saw the expression on Lydia’s face. Drawn, haunted. He knew that look.

 

And Stiles didn’t even have time to cover his ears before Lydia screamed.

 

 

~~~~

 

They’d been walking for hours. Parrish was barely leading the way with a crappy flashlight, and Stiles couldn’t stop stumbling over stray branches, or loose rocks.

 

After Lydia had screamed, Stiles called Parrish. He was hoping the guy would know maybe why. It was a risky piece of optimism, but Stiles had struck lucky. The group of missing school kids were last seen only half a mile away from the area here. Parrish thought if they looked around for a while, they might be able to find something. A possible trail or even a clue of some sort.

 

But even after three incredibly tedious hours, the pair hadn’t found anything. Stiles was positive that they’d been wandering in circles.

“I have definitely seen this rock before,” “Look! A branch in the shape of Christopher Lee! We saw this branch like, not even a minute ago,” “I would recognise that cloud anywhere. The white bits there, ya see em? They look like Scott’s balls,”

After thirty minutes of this, and Parrish grinding his jaw, the deputy decided to only speak, if either of them felt they had a lead.

 

Which was why no one had uttered a word for over an hour. Because there was NO FUCKING LEAD! No clues or hints. No patches of dries blood, or torn clothing. Fuck, it was like no had had even step foot in this part of Beacon Hills until Lydia had led them on some fucked up version of a wild goose chase.

 

Stiles was about to tell this to Parrish, when he heard the guy say his name.

“Huh?”

Parrish looked up, from his current position of kneeling on the ground. His face held all kinds of confusion. “What, Stiles?”

“You said my name,” Stiles deadpanned, wandering over to the darker part of the area, where the trees slung low, causing looming shadows to form on the ground.

“No I didn’t,” Parrish frowned, standing and stretching his legs, “Hey, don’t go there. Stick with me, yeah?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “I’m not _that_ defenceless. And you did say my name. I heard you,” As Stiles went deeper in, the sound of running water hummed past his ear.

“Listen to me. I _promise you_ , I didn’t say anything,”

_Stiles_

Stiles whipped round, eyes wide, “You just said it again!”

“No I didn’t,” Parrish stressed, “And don’t go any further, please. We don’t know this area particularly well. If one of us gets lost, there’s no knowing if we’ll come back or not,”

Stiles scoffed, following the sound of the water, “No need to be so dramatic, Parrish,”

He could feel the burn of Parrish’s glare through the back of his head, feel his hair sizzling, “I’m being deadly _serious_ , Stiles,”

_Stiles_

Okay, yeah. Now someone was one hundred percent calling his name. And Stiles was sure that it came from the sounds of water.

 

He felt drawn towards the noise. It was soothing, yet eerie. Like someone was playing a song just for Stiles, for no one else. Only Stiles was meant to hear it.

He picked up his pace, weaving in and out of the trees. He vaguely heard Parrish call out his name, but still didn’t stop. He had to get to the water. Had to know what was there. There _was_ something.

 

“Stiles! Watch where you-!”

Stiles lost his footing and fell headfirst into an ice cold stream.

Like _ice_ cold. Mother fucker that was cold. It was the middle of September; some people were still on vacation. Why the fuck was the water at minus seventy degrees. His skin crawled with the sensation, and he hunched his shoulders, hoping to make himself smaller.

Hey, the less surface area, the less contact with The Abominable Snowman’s cum. Because this shit was _freezing_.

 

Stiles could barely feel his toes, wadding through the water. Each step he took, he felt himself hit what felt like a brick wall. Which was crazy, because the water was clear of anything solid. It was normal, empty, really cold water.

 

So it came as quite the surprise when Stiles climbed onto a rock next to Parrish, and saw half a dozen dead bodies floating on the surface of the blood stained water.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BUM BUM BUMMMMMMMMMMM
> 
> Thanks so much guys for all your kudos and comments! They mean so much!!!


	7. Importance of the Messenger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re killing them,” Lydia snarled, “They've all died, because of you. You've done this, you did this, and you’re going to keep on doing it. You won’t be able to stop it, you’ll help it. You’ll urge the monster on. You are going to be the reason they all die!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-ho, guys.
> 
> Firstly, I'm SO sorry i was late this week. It's been madness, and crazy and uhhhh. BUTTTTT- I do now have my chapter!  
> yay  
> I hope I'll have my regular Wednesday update in the next few days, but if I don't, i pinky promise it'll only be a day or two off.
> 
> Secondly, this chapter is a little qrkgbqrglub. I don't know what to make of it, but some MAJOR foreshadowing.  
> SO enjoy!
> 
> Kudos and Comments always welcome.
> 
> -Gobi

Stiles sat by the edge of the river, hugging his knees close to his chest. The thin shawl his dad had wrapped around him did little to prevent the cold from seeping into his bones, clawing through his skin. The sun had disappeared behind the horizon a significant amount of time ago, and the moon popped up into the sky, accompanied with an unforgiving gale of wind. Stiles had completely lost track of time, he didn’t know whether it was only evening, or half way into the night. To be frank, he was still too shaken up to whip out his phone and check.

Seven. Seven children. Seven innocent lives. Five young boys, two young girls. All dead. With the school teacher nowhere to be found. Just her clothes strewn carelessly on a tree branch, dangling for all to see. Including her underwear.  
And it made Stiles sick.

He very well knew that he had the blood of endless people on his hands, so many guiltless humans. People who had lives, jobs, families. Some people who were still at school, almost ready to graduate. Ready to step off into the world, and fuck. Stiles had taken that away from them.  
But for some weird reason, this was different. He didn’t feel guilt, or remorse. He didn’t feel responsible for their deaths, for them.  
Stiles felt fucking vengeful.  
What kind of sick fucker killed children, raped teachers, and just left their discarded bodies for the police to investigate on? Did this bring pleasure to some people? Did they find it amusing? Because if they did, something was wrong with them. Something was so, so wrong with them. They were fucked up beyond any kind of possible help. Not that they deserved help. What they did deserve was a one way ticket to hell, where they could wallow in self-loath for the rest of eternity. And Stiles would personally make sure that Crowley treated them like the pieces of shit they were.

Because this was so wrong.

The Beacon Hills Police Department, (Stiles really had to start saying BHPD) had arrived in record time after Stiles and Parrish found the bodies. The sheriff was among them, and after enveloping Stiles in a father-son bear hug, he had sat him down and gone through the standard police procedure.  
“What time exactly did you find the bodies?” “Where were you when Miss. Martin stopped the car for the first time?” “Did you come across any unusual sightings?” “When was the last time you slept Stiles! For Christ’s sake, you look like a malnourished, abused panda!”

Once they’d searched the area, finding nothing and no one, Stiles’ dad had identified the children to be the ones lost on a school trip. Beacon Hills Elementary, sixth graders. Stiles had even known one of them, a boy known as Jamie Clark. He lived near Stiles, a curly haired kid who waved from his front porch every morning, never seen without a plastic dinosaur of some sort wedge under his arm. Stiles also knew he was an only child living with his mom.  
What was she going to say when the Sheriff knocked on her door and told her that her only son, only baby had died.  
That wasn’t something Stiles wanted to think about.

A pair of footsteps approached him, pausing closely by Stiles on the bank. Whoever was next to him let out a sigh, waiting for a moment before sitting down.  
“Coffee?”  
Stiles turned to see his dad’s newest deputy holding out a steaming Styrofoam cup, with Starbucks branded on the cover. 

Tristan Walker, a charismatic addition to the police force, and supposedly the town’s new charmer. 

Or so he had heard from Lydia. Who had heard from Parrish. Who worked with the guy. Hence the gossip being most likely true. As was all the gossip Stiles heard from Lydia. She wasn’t one to spew any random shit from her mouth. Everything she said had a deeper meaning to it. Well, most of the things she said. And he was willing to take her word on Tristan fucking Walker.  
Honestly, Stiles didn’t know what lonely teenage girls or desperate fifty year-old cougars really saw in him. Sure, the guy had a damn good head of hair. Bronze curls, thick and unfairly luscious. With a thousand-watt smile, one that Stiles had viewed personally, a few times too many. Blue eyes, dimples, slender nose. A fucking fine ass, that fitted a little too well in his pants. And those abs were definitely lick-able…  
But not like Stiles thought about this. He wasn’t queer or anything. But it wasn’t easy to suppress the sound of Malia and Kira’s constant gushing about him. Well, Kira’s gushing. Malia’s rather graphic explanations of how chains should really be put to use.

Stiles shuddered. The sex with Malia had been unarguably satisfying. Obviously better than any other sex he’d ever had. Meaning she was a good fuck.  
Then again, it had been the only sex he’d ever had. Like, ever. But all the same, it was nice. Animalistic, even. Though sometimes, the animal in Malia came out a little more than Stiles’ was comfortable with. And physically capable to manage. Danny certainly wasn’t buying his excuses of evil desk corners when Stiles stripped off in the locker room. But what were you gonna do? You know what the say - When the claws come out, so do your orgasms.  
And come out they did. Ahahaha.

Stiles had to stop being so fucking hilarious when no one was around to appreciate his humour. He’d end up draining ever last once of pants-pissing hilarity he stored, and then where would he be? Stand-up comedy would flush down the drain, and living in Beacon Hills, you career options were limited.

You’re not going to be staying in Beacon Hills, though, Stiles reminded himself. Sure, he’d lived here his entire life, and he knew pretty much every inch and everyone in the town. Literally every street held some sort of memory, some amusing, and others… Ehh, not so much. But Stiles couldn’t stay forever. Places like Stanford, and possibly Harvard were calling out to him. Michigan, Columbia. Maybe even Berkeley if he was lucky. He couldn’t make a life on his own at Beacon Hills Community College. It wasn’t for him. He would most likely leave state. Maybe even America all together. Join Jackson all the way down in London, perhaps.  
Seriously. Stiles was too funny for his own good. He deserved a fucking medal or something.

“Ahem,” Tristan coughed tactfully, arm still extended with a steaming cup of what seemed to look like an espresso. “I don’t know if you’re a fan of coffee or other hot drinks, but the polite thing to do in this type of situation is at least reply,” He grins impishly at Stiles, dimples dancing in and out of his cheeks. Stiles never knew that high cheek bones and dimples worked well together, but apparently they make quite the attractive young depute. Or male model. “Or is stoic and silence the range these days?”

Stiles scowled, feeling certain disgust at the man’s buoyancy, “Sorry, but I prefer to stay away from caffeine when there’s been a mass murder and I’m a vital witness,” Stiles grimaced, shuffling away from Tristan and his overpriced beverage. Like, seriously. Who bought coffee for young boys when a serial killer suddenly struck town? At least have the decency to show some remorse. The bare minimum a person can do when something so gruesome takes place, is not to flirt like Beyoncé’s watching you with a gaggle of the press and a sign demanding seduction.

“I’m just trying to get you to feel complacent,” Tristan said with a careless shrug, discarding the cup of coffee. He leant back next to Stiles, putting all his weight on his arms. Stiles couldn’t help the way his eyes darted to Tristan’s bicep when his muscles popped out temptingly from their current position. Even if he was creepily pervy, you had to admit the guy was fit. As in good shape.  
He wasn’t staring, though! Okay, he was staring, but more out of fascination than temptation. Because Stiles wasn’t like that! At all. If anything, he was possibly jealous of Tristan’s body structure. The amount of chicks hanging onto his every word (as well as his god-like arm muscles) in a single day, were more than the amount Stiles had spoken to in his entire life. And Stiles spoke a lot. It was fair to say that the Depute was reasonably attractive. To both genders.  
Stiles wasn’t appealed in any way though. Maybe a hint of curiosity lay underneath his straight as an arrow exterior, but that was all. He wasn’t even bi. Just ….Inquisitive. Yeah, that was the word. Stiles didn’t like dick, but he did have one, and all this, horny teenager, wanted to know was what it may’ve felt like experiencing it from the other side. Was that so bad?

Managing to tear his eyes away from Tristan’s unfairly ripped arms; he caught the man staring at Stiles, smirking. His eyes were devilish, but not in greed. More like determination. His brow was pinched together, giving him a very specific “Sherlock Holmes” look. What with the crazy written all over his face. Yeah, crazy. Alongside hungry, and intense.  
“Uh, I know you’re part of the police department and all, but maybe ease off of the eye-interrogation for a bit,” Stiles suggested, nervously reaching up to scratch at the back of his neck. The way Tristan was leering at him wasn’t the most inviting situation. The guy was probably thinking of different ways to fuck Stiles upside down in the back of the forensic van.  
“And, please,” Stiles continued, hoping he didn’t come off pitiable in any way, “Try to have some respect for the dead. It’s not very dutiful if you go around flirting, then successfully banging eighteen year old boys the day someone died. Also, sorry to break to you bud, but I’ve strictly reserved myself for the ladies,”  
Tristan’s frown deepened for a moment, then the corners of his lips twitched and he let out a full blown laugh. It echoed through the trees, and a few other cops glared at them, obviously confused as to why their co-worker was pissing themselves with the sheriff’s obnoxious ADHD son.  
But this was totally normal for Stiles on a regular day. Apart from the laughing.  
Because rude! Hello? It wasn’t a joke, and Stiles was deadly serious. His scowl must have portrayed that rather accurately, because when Tristan caught the look of irascibility on Stiles’ face, his laughter died down.  
He did wipe a tear from his eye though. It was becoming harder to resist pouring the coffee down his pants.

“Oh Stiles,” Tristan chuckled weakly, “How naive are you? If you think everyone who flirts with someone has an intention of going down on them, then you are so, so unbelievably wrong,”  
Stiles only glared harder. Maybe if he put enough effort into it, his eyes would actually burn holes into the guy’s head. That might shut him up for a few minutes. Or hours. Days, weeks, months, years, centuries, millenniums! For all eternity. Which would be nice.  
“Says the man who’s slept with over seventy-five percent of Beacon Hill’s population,”  
“Seventy-six percent,” Tristan gave a wolfish grin, “I’ll admit, my sexual life is more active than it’s ever really been before, but can you blame me? With gorgeous civilians like you walking around,” Tristan leans in, his breathing ghosting over Stiles cheek. The faint smell of peppermint and tobacco wafts through, “I am struggling to keep the little general tame,”  
Stiles gaped, horrified not even being the word for how disgusted he feels. First of all, the guy has now officially restricted Stiles from watching Friends. Ever. Secondly, WHAT!

Stiles knew Tristan was flirting with him, but a full on offer for sex! Hell no!  
“Uh, I’m sorry, but, I, uh, I’m s-straight,” Stiles stammered, feeling a red flush crawl up his neck. He gulped, watching Tristan raise an eyebrow and look unconvinced.  
“I-I like girls,”  
“I know what gay means Stiles,” he dead panned, straightening his back and standing up. “I just assumed, seeing you prance around with the guy who has that extremely fuck-able body. And decent sized feet, mind you,”  
“Ohhhh," Stiles caught on, until what Tristan had actually meant sunk in, hitting him like a slap in the face, "Wait – what? NO! You don’t- Scott’s just my best friend!” Stiles garbled, waving his arms wildly around. He almost whacked Tristan’s dick, resulting in him to take an unimpressed step back.  
The Depute rolled his eyes, before letting out a rueful sigh and continuing, “Not the puppy dog, but woof!” He licked his lips appreciatively. Stiles only gagged. “No, I was talking about the sex on legs guy,”  
“Liam?” Stiles blinked. He was illegal. That was a new level of creepy.  
“No, Stiles,” Tristan huffed an annoyed sigh, clearly done with the conversation, “Liam’s my nephew. Who’s the other one? The babe who looks at you, like you’re the best thing since sliced bread?”  
Stiles flushed, shaking his head, “There’s NO GUY! I have no interest in men, and no men have any interest in me!”  
“Now I see why,” Tristan muttered under his breath. Stiles prayed a branch would fall on his head or something. “Anyway, I didn’t just come to give you the coffee,”  
“You came for a blowy? Because my dad’s only a couple meters away,”  
“I came,” Tristan snarled, sucking in his teeth, “Because the perky red-head won’t stop muttering your name or snapping at anyone who comes within ten feet f her,”

All thoughts of repulsion left Stiles mind when he flew up and gripped Tristan by the shoulders. “What the hell happened to Lydia?” Stiles demanded. 

 

~~~~

 

Stiles crouched in front of Lydia, who was shaking almost uncontrollably. Her hair fell over her perfect face, casting shadows across her skin. Her lips were once again chapped and dry, quivering like a leaf in the wind.  
But she’d lost the dead look in her eyes. They were now filled with fear and hysteria. Though somehow, they were still Lydia’s eyes. It was still Lydia in there, not her banshee.  
“Lydia?” Stiles tried softly, not wanting to alarm her. “Hey, Lyds,”  
Lydia’s eyes darted up, her face paling when she saw Stiles.  
“Lydia,” Stiles kept his voice gentle, “You- Are you okay?”  
“Stiles,” Lydia whispered, her voice breaking. Tears poured down her cheeks, and she let out a guttural sob. “Stiles!”  
“Hey, hey, Shhhh,” Stiles assured, wrapping Lydia into a warm embrace, “It’s okay. Everything’s fine,”  
“The, the, chi-children,”  
“You found them, Lydia,” Stiles soothed, “You saved valuable time. Their parents can now know they’re at peace. To a certain extent, at least,”  
But Lydia only shook her head, despite Stiles attempted words of comfort, “No, no no nonononono,” She began to cry harder, wetting the curve of his neck. Stiles could only caress her hair, and mutter into her ear.  
“You, you don’t-,” Lydia let out a shaky breath, shuddering violently. Her hands grasped at Stiles shirt, her face desperate and tearful.  
“Lydi-“  
“NO!” Lydia suddenly screamed, pushing herself away from Stiles, “GET AWAY FROM ME!”  
Stiles, previously having to squat, was now sprawled on his ass, covering the forest floor. He scrambled to get back to his feet, slipping once or twice from the sheer surprise. Looking forward, Lydia was now hunched, in an attack stance. Her breath was heavy, laced with panic. Panic, like Stiles was going to hurt her. 

But Stiles couldn’t hurt her if he tried.  
“Lydia, why-what are-,”  
Lydia let out a glass-shattering screech before launching herself at Stiles. She tackled him down and straddled his legs, pinning his arms down to the floor. Stiles knew Parrish had been helping her train, but this was a full-on ambush. Her nails dug into his wrists so hard he felt the skin break. Stiles cried out in pain, struggling for all he was worth. Lydia held onto him with an iron grip, forcing her entire weight onto his helpless frame.  
A handful of officers began to shout, some running over and pulling out weapons. Yet Lydia wasn’t fazed. She zeroed in on Stiles, watching him like a hawk.  
“Lydia, what are doing?” Stiles spluttered, desperately writhing away from her. Lydia panted angrily in his face, sweat dripping down from her brow and falling by Stiles’ cheek. He grimaced, and turned his head away.  
“LOOK AT ME!” Lydia screamed at him, momentarily releasing one of his hands, only to jerk his chin to face her. She pulled herself closer to Stiles, so close, Stiles could faintly smell a whiff of Lydia’s Chanel perfume, her apple face wash, her lemon and coconut essence shampoo (that he sometimes used when he stayed over after a bloody battle) over the stench of blood.  
“Do you know what the fuck you’ve done?” she whispered harshly, “Do you what’s going to happen now?”  
Stiles stared blankly at her. What the hell? Lydia had gone wild before, but never, never had she done this. She’d never made Stiles feel like she was putting his life at risk. Like either of them were threats to each other.  
“I-I don’t, I don’t know…,” Stiles croaked, his throat suddenly felling bone dry. 

“You’re killing them,” Lydia snarled, “They’ve all died, because of you. You’ve done this, you did this, and you’re going to keep on doing it. You won’t be able to stop, you’ll help it. You’ll urge the monster on. You are going to be the reason he dies. The reason they all die!”  
She wedged her knee into Stiles’ stomach, causing him to cry out. Pain flared in his lower abdomen, increasing the deeper Lydia dug. “He won’t know. I won’t know. No one will know. Only you,”

“What the fuck are you talking about Lydia?” Stiles yelled at her, furiously glaring. He felt bile crawl up his throat, and begged for it to stay down. Choking on his vomit would be an incredibly ironic way to die in this current situation.  
“YOU’RE GOING TO GET THEM ALL KILLED!”  
The memory of the Nogitsune flashed in his mind. Telling him they were going to kill them all. The innocent people at the hospital. Aiden. Allison. Everyone.  
“All of them,”

All of them.

Everyone.

“And there’s nothing you can do to stop it,” Lydia went on, “Unless I do something about it,”  
She leaned slightly off of his chest, and Stiles felt the pressure decrease. He gulped in a deep breath of air, watching Lydia’s eyes flash with a feeling only described as borderline crazy. He watched her draw back her right hand from his wrist, and use her left one to grip both of his arms.  
“LYDIA!” Stiles protested, losing his nerves greatly. His chest felt tight once again, even though Lydia hadn’t moved her position. His muscles pulled, that tense feeling he had experienced only so many times over the past few days. Panic stricken, Stiles was unable to suppress the tears that cued up in his ducts. He cried openly, feeling dizzy when he saw Lydia steady her arm above her head. 

Stiles didn’t know what she was planning to do with that hand. Nor would he ever find out. Because just as Lydia jerked it forward, she was yanked off of him. Someone dragged her away. Lydia was towed, screaming and thrashing. A small trail of blood followed her, leaving red clumps whenever she passed a stone or a leaf pile.  
Looking up, Stiles saw Derek curling his arms around her, cradling Lydia like you would a baby. She had stopped grappling with him, and was now sunken deep into Derek’s pad chest.

But the screaming continued. Lydia was yelling at him, Derek, everyone around them. It was like a mantra, escaping her lips. Her accusing voice directed at Stiles. Derek’s voice was somewhere beyond Lydia’s, encouraging him not to listen.

Yet all Stiles’ could do was listen. Listen to those five words. Those five, single words. Each one laced with hate and venom.

“THEY’RE ALL GOING TO DIE!”

And Lydia didn’t spew any random shit from her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you liked it! Leave me a comment to tell me what you though!
> 
> Enjoy you're sunflowers!
> 
> -Gobi
> 
> COUNTDOWN TO CHRISTMAS: 46 DAYS


	8. Explain what you mean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stiles wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. He didn’t know how he hadn’t broken down crying, how he hadn’t had a panic attack. More than once did the Sheriff mentioned something about shock. Yeah, more like shellshock. Lydia had acted as if Stiles was attempting to shoot her down with an army tank, filled with dynamite and laced with wolfsbane. Stiles didn’t want to know what spurred her on, but if it happened again he would definitely consider plastic surgery and rehabilitation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG i am so friggen sorry! I said i may be a few days late, but this is appalling. I am ashamed of myself!  
> But I do have the chapter ready for you! SO enjoyyyyyyyyy!!!
> 
> -Gobi

“Are you sure you’re going to be okay?” Stiles father asked for what seemed like the millionth time that night. His face was etched with worry lines, a frown appearing on his forehead, and Stiles hated to see him like this. Seeing him so troubled and concerned. The Sheriff worked so hard, battling out all off Beacon Hills’ crazy, fucked up problems. The last thing he needed was Stiles dragging him into this shit.

Yet he never said anything about it. He always took whatever issues fell upon him into his stride, giving Stiles as much assistance as he possibly could. And Stiles was eternally grateful.

Sure, he expressed it in questionable ways. Ways that varied from getting in-and-out burger for dinner, to not coming home with a bloody shirt, or his arm hanging off. Or a dead body in the trunk of his jeep and asking his dad where the shovels were.

Damn. Stiles had to think of better ways to hide evidence.

 

Looking into his dad’s eyes, Stiles gave his most reassuring smile, “I’m fine, seriously! My ego isn’t really feeling up to its usual standards, but when you get your ass kicked by a teenage girl in heels, what are you gonna expect?”

The crease in his forehead didn’t disappear in any way. If anything, it deepened. Stiles took an uneasy gulp, feeling his throat bob up and down. His dad wouldn’t let him be if he thought Stiles wasn’t up to taking care of himself. “If it makes you feel any better, I can go to Scott’s or something, spend the night there,”

“You’ll knock on Melissa’s door at quarter to one in the morning?”

Stiles grimaced. Shit, was it really that late?

“I’ll call you every hour,” 

The Sheriff kept his face hesitant, but Stiles could tell he was wavering slightly. The way his eyes kept darting to the squad car was a hint if nothing else. A couple more hits and the bridge would collapse.

“I’ll let you eat bacon for breakfast?” Stiles attempted once more, trying to give his best ‘angel child’ look.

The Sheriff let out a defeated sigh, glancing at Stiles with a weary smile, “I’m just worried about you, kiddo,”

“I know,” Stiles said softly, nodding, “But you don’t need to be,”

 

Or maybe the he should be. Things weren’t as normal as usually. Okay, things were _never_ normal in Beacon Hills, but the pack generally had a lead of sorts, when weird shit happened. Even if it was too coincidental to be true half the time.

But now, _Deaton_ was also lost. And he was their main source of information. They _could_ ask the Yukimuras, but the likeliness of them knowing anything wasn’t very probable. Stiles doubted Chris would have stuff in his Argent Vault of Supernatural Knowledge.

So to sum it up, they were fucked. No one knew what was going on, who was causing it, where the fuck it came from, or how it could be stopped.

And now _Lydia_ had gone bat shit crazy, determined to pull out Stiles’ throat before the night was over. Lydia, the most level-headed person in their pack. The one who knew how to handle everyone else’s bullshit before dealing with her own. _Fucking Lydia_ , who always had to remind Stiles that he was better off when he was using his elbows to fight because that’s where he held the most strength.

The funny thing is- Stiles had never thought that Lydia would be the one he was fighting. Or the one trying to fight him. Ha ha ha.

“Stiles, hey! Snap out of it, you dreamer,”

Stiles blinked several times, shaking his head. “Sorry pops, tired. You know how it gets, right?”

The Sheriff nodded, looking uncertain, “I know how it is for men who are in their fifties- Not young boys who should relish sleep like it’s next to Godliness. Promise me you’ll knock off when you reach Scott’s?”

“I solemnly swear, dad,” Stiles guaranteed, crossing his heart. “That I am up to no good,” he added, smirking deviously. It was too obvious not to say. When there was a reference that good, you had to make it.

“Okay, well we’re going to drop Lydia off at her place. Her mother’s been stressing for God knows how long, and even though she keeps on insisting, I’m not letting her walk back. Her phone and house keys won’t protect her that well,”

The Sheriff ruffled Stiles head fondly before walking away, towards the squad car. The door was hanging open, and a deputy was taking a statement from someone in the rear of the car. Stiles could just make out Lydia, shivering in the back seat, with a towel draped hastily over her shoulders. The last time Stiles had seen her in such a state, she’d been wandering in the woods naked for days. It was freaky how parallels could put things into such a clear perspective.

 

He trudged away from the beam of the headlights, loneliness suddenly filling up inside of him. What was that?

 

Lydia. Lydia Martin. The girl who could predict death. The wailing woman. The fucking banshee of their pack had just attacked Stiles and told him he was going to kill everyone.

Lydia always spoke the truth. Even if she wasn’t in full control of what she was saying, it had a deeper meaning. Someone did eventually die. It wasn’t always in the way everyone else had assumed it to be. How it was going to happen- No one would know. But it would happen.

Fate had dealt the cards; the game was already in motion. Winners and losers had been set. There wasn’t anything left for Stiles to do but sit back and watch the moves take place. It was set in stone. Stiles was a true believer of all that crazy physiological shit. Fate, destiny, karma. Heaven and Hell. They were all out there, mocking Stiles and his shitty deck. Laughing at his luck.

 

What worried him the most was that Lydia had singled him out. She always knew when someone was dying, but she never knew the cause. Deaton had recently been showing Lydia different ways to control her screams, calming herself with instincts. Stiles just hadn’t known she’d been able to identify murder suspects as well.

 

After Lydia had brutally pointed her finger at Stiles and declared him the new James Moriarty, she’d continued to scream accusations at him for what felt like hours. It had only been ten minutes, if even that. Derek had passed her trembling body onto Jordan, who rocked her back and forth in his arms. The screaming had died down to tearful whimpers, and broken sobs. She stayed hidden in Jordan’s hold for a while, until the Sheriff had to usher her into the back of the patrol car. Several calls from Lydia’s parents had urged him to get her to the station sooner rather than later.

Some of his father’s deputies had offered Stiles blankets or bandages. Tristan even had the cheek to hold out a flask of “magic water” to him. It was only when Derek held out a hand to properly help him up that Stiles had snapped out of his trance. He gave a few statements, thanked the officers, and reassured his dad that he was fine.

 

Big fat fucking lie.

 

Stiles wasn’t fine. He was far from fine. He didn’t know how he hadn’t broken down crying, how he hadn’t had a panic attack. More than once did the Sheriff mentioned something about shock. Yeah, more like shellshock. Lydia had acted as if Stiles was attempting to shoot her down with an army tank, filled with dynamite and laced with wolfsbane. Stiles didn’t want to know what spurred her on, but if it happened again he would definitely consider plastic surgery and rehabilitation.

His stomach felt weak, like a drop of water would trigger full blown projectile vomiting. His muscles were once again strained, and pulled, like strings on a puppet. Someone continued to tug at them, regardless of how much he resisted.

 

Stiles was itching to get home.

 

Coming towards the clearing, he spotted Lydia’s Prius glinting elegantly in the moonlight. Was it only hours ago they’d been joking around in her car? No, it hadn’t. Because they hadn’t been joking around. Nope. Stiles had been rambling on as usual, while Lydia had turned into the Corpse Bride.

Digging his hands into his pockets, Stiles searched for the car keys. Lydia kept them with her house keys, he knew that.

And Lydia’s house keys were with her…

 

FUCK

“Fuck!” Stiles swore, inside and out of his head. He didn’t have a spare set of keys for Lydia’s house, much less ones for her car. If he didn’t have keys, he couldn’t drive the car. And no car meant walking home. Walking all the way home. This was like, gazillion miles away.

 

“Fuck,”

 

A useful word, looking at the circumstance.

 

Stiles dragged him legs over to the side of the road, where Lydia’s car stood, and shuffled a little off the curb. Then he begrudgingly held out an arm, sighing ruefully.

No one likes to hitchhike. But when you’ve got the option of begging for a lift, or crawling up half the county, it’s obvious which choice you’re gonna opt for.

“Fuck,”

Yeah, Stiles liked that word. Really expressed how shitty he felt. Which was a lot. Plus, his arm was begging to get tired. And strenuous. And wet. Like, really wet. As was his head. And his shoulders. Looking up, Stiles saw the heavens above open up. With Rain. Yeah. Nice. Cheers Cas.

 

“Fuck!” Stiles yelled, spinning his head around, craning his neck to see how heavily it was pouring down. Water spilled down the arc of his back, filling up his shirt. His hair was plastered to him, and his shirt stuck to his chest like an extra layer of skin. Sure, it showed his slightly defined chest, but that only benefited Stiles when there was someone there to see it! Right now, there wasn’t a single fucking person around! No one! He was completely alone, all by himself, in the pouring rain. He didn’t have any way of getting out of here, his hoodie was not water proof, it was half past something o’fucking clock in the morning, and-

 

And Stiles was dying. Literally. He was dying. There was a white beam headed towards him. Glowing and mystical. His eyes burned staring bang in the centre, and he had to turn away, shielding his face with the back of his right arm.

Damn. Really fucking bright. But hey ho, a bright light is always good. He was ready to join all his dead fictional characters up there, even if it meant not living long enough to see Scott and Kira’s wolf slash fox babies.

The light passed by him, and into the clearing came a sleek, black car. Derek’s one and only Camaro.

 

“Fuck,”

It stopped by him, and the window rolled down, showing a very smug, cosy, dry Derek, sitting comfortably at the driver’s seat.

“Need a lift?”

_~~~~_

 

 

Stiles would have definitely chosen the option of walking. This was ten times worse than getting a little drenched. Okay, maybe not.

He wasn’t as wet as he was before (hahahaha), and the heat coming from the vents really helped to warm him up. There was the plus side of this being the _Camaro_ \- HELLO! The leather seats practically gave his ass an orgasm. And could you _get_ a smoother ride? No, you couldn’t. This was a pretty fucking awesome car.

But it was Derek’s car. And this was Derek. Derek Hale. Who didn’t have the best rapport with Stiles in the past. Okay, so he’d been pretty decent for majority of the ride. All right- the _entire_ ride. But that didn’t mean the dick-ness had gone on holiday or anything. It was bound to emerge sooner or later. And when it did, Stiles would be right here. Just waiting to catch it.

 

Though maybe Stiles should give the Sourwolf some credit. Derek hadn’t said anything, apart from an “Are you okay?” which Stiles responded to with a grunt. He wasn’t up to talking, especially since Derek was the reason his throat was still attached to his body. The guy had saved his life, he rightfully deserved thanks. And Stiles hadn’t even asked him to take him to Scott’s home. Derek simply knew, because that’s where they were heading.

 

Again, fuck.

 

“How did you know something was wrong?” Stiles suddenly asks, disrupting the stillness.

Derek quickly glances over at Stiles, but he pretends not to see, “Uh, we were at the loft when I heard Lydia scream. Scott was introducing me to Theo- who by the way, seems like an okay kid. Kind of an asshole, but okay. We were telling him about the pack and then suddenly this ear-shattering screech comes through. I swear, Theo probably shat himself. I left Scott to tend with him and followed her voice. But I lost it after five minutes, so I called the Sheriff. Your dad said he’d keep me posted if anything came around, and a few hours later he was yelling at me to get my ass over here- wherever ‘here’ was. I managed to find your scent, and reached it just in time to see Lydia ready to maul you like a bear would to a rabbit. I took her away from you and calmed her down. Then I saw you looking like your dad’s co-workers were offering you char grilled baby on a stick, so I stepped in and handed you over to your dad. I was just about to leave when I noticed a certain Stiles waiting, soaking wet, by the side of the road. I offered him a lift and…,” Derek finished, looking reasonably chuffed with himself.

“Um, thanks,” Stiles muttered, rubbing a hand across his forehead. He wasn’t the best when it came to showing Derek things like appreciation.

“For what?” Derek asked, sounding like he genuinely didn’t know. Bullshit.

“You know what!” Stiles snapped back. Ugh, he really didn’t want to do this, “For saving my ass back there, getting me away from the commotion, _and_ giving me a ride home. Well, Scott’s home. Which is practically like a second home to me. I’m pretty sure I’m there more than Scott is. Which isn’t a lot, seeing as he’s always playing tonsil hockey with Kira these days. Not that I’m complaining- nah! Bro-code and all, you know? And it’s great he’s finally getting some again. A little dry-spell after, uh, _her_ , and I’m not all too confident Kira was so keen on going further than second base, but she _is_ managing to cope with his knot and that’s-,”

“Stiles, please _shut up_ ,” Derek remarked, sounding slightly agitated. “I love listening about Scott’s sex life just as much as the next guy, but it’s a little too late today and I really, _really_ , don’t want to hear about his knot,” Derek turned to scowl at Stiles, “ _Ever,”_

“Loud and clear General Growly,” Stiles saluted, smirking.

“Thank you,” Derek gritted, facing the road again. Rain pattered down onto the wind shield, hitting of like discs on a pinball machine. The car was silent once more, apart from the hum of the engine and hailstones outside.

“Did she say anything?” Stiles spoke up, unable to hold down his questions anymore. They’d been bubbling at his surface for a while now, and he had to open the gates or there was a possibility of self-annihilation.

“Who?”

Stiles rolled his eyes, “Peggy Carter, that’s who. She wanted to know how Steve was doing fucking Tony, and if they’d decided on a date for a wedding yet,”

“If anything, Steve’s fucking Bucky. You could cut the UST they have with a blunt screwdriver,” Derek retaliated simply, ignoring Stiles sarcasm. Yeah, _suuuure_. Steve and Bucky were so not fucking! That was undoubtedly obvious. Derek knew fuck all about The Avengers. Wait, Derek knew about…

“WOAH! Wait, now. How do you even know what the Avengers are?” Stiles pressed, unable to hide the surprise in his voice.

“Contrary to popular belief Stiles, I _don’t_ live under a rock, and I _do_ know about Marvel,” Derek joked, sounding amused. Asshole.

“Yeah, yeah. Tell that to an iPhone,” Stiles grumbled, slouching in his seat. He’d always thought Derek had stayed old-school, never joining the real world.

The car was quiet until Derek butted in again, “And no. She didn’t. ‘ _She’_ is Lydia, right?”

“Yeah,” Stiles croaked, peering out the window.  
“Stiles,” Derek started, pausing. Was he waiting for Stiles to stop him? “I don’t know what’s being going on recently,”

“Yeah, no shit,” Stiles muttered darkly, crossing his arms.

“ _But_ ,” Derek continued, “I want you to know, that whatever happens-,”

“You won’t blame me?” Stiles finished off, infuriated. “Yeah, heard it all before. Been there, done that. An old line, Derek. No one blamed me for killing Allison, but you all thought it. Scott doesn’t blame me for him getting the bite, but he knows that if I had just kept my stupid mouth shut that night, he wouldn’t have gone into the woods. My dad told me that I wasn’t to blame for my mom, yet, maybe, if I hadn’t…,” Stiles tails off, because if he carries on he’ll definitely burst into tears.

“ _Actually_ ,” Derek says, like Stiles hadn’t gone and made everything winner of the year award awkward, “Whatever happens, we’ll find a way to fight it off,”

Stiles snaps his head around to gape at Derek, who’s wearing his world famous poker-face.

“Huh?”

“I know what it feels like when someone tells you it’s not your fault, that you couldn’t have done anything about it. And I know what it feels like to listen to complete and utter bullshit. Because there are _always_ things you could have done differently, no matter how small. And those things could have possibly changed the outcome, better or worse.  But that’s not what I’m saying. I’m trying to say that there’s always a way of defeating the bad, even if it’s not in the way you originally thought it would be,”

“You heard Lydia, Derek,” Stiles whispers helplessly, knowing Derek will be able to hear him, “She said, she said I was going to _kill_ everyone. And it’s Lydia. Eleven out of ten times she’s right. She’ll defy the laws of physics just to prove herself,”

“Oh believe me, I know,” Derek assured, shaking his head slightly, “Laura was just like that. Desperate to show she was right. Even if she wasn’t. Some women are just dominating. Their power shines through them, reaching out to hopeless men that have no control over sexual urges,”

“Wow,”

“Yeah, she’d leave me messages explaining why there were three men in our kitchen and no Laura;” Derek chuckled softly, “Braeden’s a little like that,”

Stiles couldn’t miss the small smile that settled onto his face. He also couldn’t miss the pulling he felt in his chest. He wasn’t jealous or anything. God, jealous of Derek. Can you imagine? But he did miss Malia, a diminutive, almost insignificant bit.

Stiles wriggled in his seat uncomfortably, trying to rid off the clawing inside off him. Derek must’ve caught him squirming around like a fish out of water, because he suddenly stretches out his arm to still him. Stiles looks up at Derek, to see his eyebrows raised in a _what the fuck are you doing can you not sit still like a normal human being for like five seconds?_ Way.

 

“Ants?” Derek questions, tilting his head to the side?

“Dick?” Stiles snipes back, glaring.

“Right here,” Derek says grinning, patting down on his crotch. Stiles feels his cheeks redden furiously, while his glower continues. But he does stop fidgeting.

“I can see,” Stiles barks, nodding in the general direction of his groin. “It would be _hard_ to miss,”

Derek fully laughs at that, and Stiles can’t help but smirk in unison. Okay, that was a bad pun, but it had to be made. Plus, how often did you see Derek laugh so openly.

Rarely. The answer was rarely.

“How you still have friends that can stand you, I don’t think I’ll ever know,” Derek clips, his chortle dying down. Then he peers at Stiles, almost anxiously. “Sorry, I didn’t mean it in that-,”

“No, it’s, uh, it’s fine,” Stiles dismisses him, waving his hand flippantly, “Things have been Fifty shades of fucked up recently, I understand,”

“I don’t think you do,” Derek states. Stiles frowns at him, pausing with his hands in mid air. Huh?

“ _What_?”

“Stiles, what does Lydia do?” Derek asks, seemingly out of the blue, but stays focussed on the wheel.

“She screams?” Stiles tries. Where was this going?

“She’s a banshee,” Derek explains, looking thoughtful.

“Giving me well-known info here, Derek,”

“Banshees predict death, Stiles,” Derek stops the car, glancing at Stiles, “Not killers,”

Stiles freezes for a few moments, watching Derek stare at him. Finally, the werewolf nods outside, where the McCall house sits. Scott’s bedroom light is on.

 

“We’re here,”

 

 

~~~~

 

 

Seriously, if Scott looks at Stiles like he has a dick hanging off his nose one more time, Stiles _will_ kill a bitch.

Ever since he came to Scott’s house seeking refuge at two in the morning, Scott’s been staring at him with his _you’ve gotta be fucking kidding me what is my life_ eyes. Stiles gave him a brief recap of what shit went down with Lydia, thanked Melissa for letting him crash, then fell asleep the minute his head hit the pillow. Which is surprising, as Stiles thought he’d have had the shitty luck of being plagued by nightmares the whole night long.

He woke up to Scott looking at him with the freaked out eyes again, and it was all Stiles could do not to cut his tongue off and mail it to the President.

The journey to school had been slightly less awkward. Mainly because Kira had kept the discomfort at bay by blasting out Drake from the car-speakers.

And now came the fateful moment where Stiles and Scott were casually hanging around Stiles’ locker. Only for Lydia approached them.

“Um, Stiles?” Lydia looked up at him, for once in her life resembling vulnerability, and possibly mildly nervousness, “Can we maybe, um, talk?”

“Sure, sure,” Stiles murmured, closing his locker shut. He took a peek at Scott, who was gawking with his mouth hanging open, and that fucking punch worthy look on his face. Stiles glared at him, but managed to straighten his glower so he could nod at Lydia to lead the way. She gave a timid smile before walking towards an empty classroom, and holding the door out to Stiles. He followed her inside, and the door shut with a bang.

 

“Now I want to say, foretime, I promise that I’m not going to jump on you,” Lydia suddenly blurted, walking away from the door and up to Stiles. He leaned back against the desk, watching Lydia panic.

“I don’t want to make you feel scared or at risk in any way, please remember that,”

“Lydia-,”

“I’m not finished,” Lydia went on, “I’m going to say a lot of things right now Stiles, and all I ask of you is to not, _to not_ , interrupt me until I have said my piece. Then you can yell ay me as much as you want and I won’t hold any of it against you. Can we agree to that?”

Stiles nodded.

“Okay,” Lydia took a deep breath, “Firstly, I’m going to apologise. No one deserves to almost get killed and then leave without a single explanation of sorts. So I’m sorry. And I hope you’re not hurt. Secondly, I want to say that whatever I said yesterday, I couldn’t control it. I mean, I felt like me, but I didn’t. Half the time I say random shit and the end result is something completely opposite. Don’t take anything of what I said to heart. It’ll probably happen to every other member of the pack as well, it was just circumstance that triggered it last night. And finally- God, give me strength,” Lydia muttered, looking devastated, “I don’t think we should be joint class presidents. At lunch I’ll go to Mrs. Dawson’s office and tell her I’m dropping out,”

“Lydia-,”

“Stiles, please!” Lydia cried, “I really don’t want to do this. Do you know how hard this is? You’re one of my best friends and I love you like crazy. But for now, I think this is the best option. Things have been so weird; I can’t get sleep at night. I’m not eating properly. I just want to take a break from everything for a while. Please understand that,”

“Lydia, _I’ll_ drop out, not you. You’ve worked so hard for this-,”

“I have enough for my college resume,” Lydia said gently, putting a hand on Stiles’ shoulder. “And it wouldn’t be fair for you. So we’ll take some time off from each other, clear our heads, and then in a few weeks maybe things will have resumed back to normal,”

 

Stiles could only stare, frozen in place. This wasn’t meant to happen. Lydia was supposed to hug Stiles and tell him it was all okay and that they were still best friends. Not this. Anything but this.

 

The bell rang, shattering the silence that had discreetly filled up the room. Lydia took her hand away from Stiles, and gave an anxious smile. “I’ve got to get to class,”

Stiles gave a vague interpretable sound of agreement. Lydia quickly squeezed his arm before exiting the room, closing the door gently behind her.

 

Leaving Stiles completely and utterly alone.

 

“Stilinski!” Finstock’s voice barked from the doorway, “Get the hell out of my classroom,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for beingf so awesome guys, w/ all your comments and kudos! I would definitely welcome more!
> 
> xxx
> 
> -Gobi
> 
> COUNTDOWN TO CHRISTMAS- 38 DAYS!!!!!!


	9. What's there to lose?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did she say to you?” Scott badgered, fingers digging into Stiles’ skin.  
> “Well, she said that I was funny, that I was cool, that I would make a good prince, and as I had mentioned before, that she liked me more than anyone else,” Stiles finished. He couldn’t help bragging, especially since this was the most amounts of compliments he’d received in a long time.  
> “Dude,” Liam said, mouth hanging open in approbation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH! Another chapter! Shit goes downnnnn, here!  
> Thanks sooo much for all the comments and kudos tho! Really deprecate it!
> 
> -Gobi

Stiles sat slumped on his desk in chemistry, watching the clock tick by aimlessly. His eyelids were mere minutes away from drooping completely, and a trail of drool ran along the corner of his mouth. Thirty minutes of this subject and his brain was officially fried. It was bad enough he and Scott weren’t in the same class this year, but now that he’d lost Lydia as a lab partner, the lesson became at least fifty times more unattainable. Sitting on his own and working out chemical formulas with no one else but endless clusters of atoms was significantly more monotonous than sitting with a partner and talking about Walking Dead.

When he first entered the class room, Stiles had noticed that Lydia wasn’t in her usual seat next to him, by the window. In fact, she was as far away as one could have been from her previous bench, miles towards the back. Which was an extreme measure for Lydia, seeing as she thrived being at the front, supposedly gaining more knowledge than her peers.

Stiles’ head had whipped back and forth from Lydia to the seat, standing awkwardly as she gave him a hesitant smile. He only managed a small wave back before she turned and continued her conversation with Danny, who now apparently sat next to her.

 

So yeah, the period was literally the embodiment of uncomfortable, and the current situation had completely annihilated any amusement left in this God forsaken class. Stiles might as well light himself on fire and play Burn Baby Burn on his phone. Just to add to the atmosphere, you know? He might even charge people to watch, earn some extra cash. It’s been said that rent don’t come cheap down in Hell.

 

“Is this a taken seat?”

Stiles didn't jump. Nope. He was just a little startled because a smooth, exotic accent had interrupted his mental grumbling session. He looked up, and did his best not to gape. Some kind of woodland princess was staring shyly back at him, clutching an armful of books.

Chestnut hair pinned back into a braid, with flowers positioned delicately, like a floral wreath placed delicately upon her head. Ok, not an actual wreath. Maybe just a felt rose clipped into the side, but still.

Her eyes kept darting back and forth from Stiles, big brown, chocolate brown orbs hesitant to keep eye contact.

 

“Uhhh, I, uh, no, the –princess, uh...” he stammered, struggling to speak Basic English.

The “princess” giggled, and Stiles possible melted inside. Like, his organs turned into running streams of honey, sticky but sugary. To match the sound of her sweet, sweet voice.

“I can sit?”

“Uh, uh hu. Yeah. Yes! Of, - uh, of course!”

 Stiles sprang up, fumbling to make his arms control properly. They darted out like springs, clearing the one side of the desk. He shoved stray books into his bag, hands flailing, doing a grand job of knocking over pencils, and sending them tumbling onto the floor.

The princess laughed again, bending down to pick up the mess.

“Thank you very much,” she said, taking a seat next to Stiles.

“Oh, um, no problem!” He assured, sprawling in his chair. “I was sitting alone anyways,”

Wow, way to sound cool Stilinski.

“Oh, I thought the pretty girl with red hair who makes the boys scared was sitting with you?”

Umm, yeah, that description could only be interpreted as Lydia. Actually, it was a spot on definition.

“Oh, um Lydia’s sitting next to Danny now,”

The princess looked around, confusion set on her a confused pout set on her lips. Soft, pink, rosebud lips. Like little candy hearts.

“Danny?” she asked, peering around the classroom, looking lost.

Oh shit. This was the _new girl_. Stiles had been so entranced by her; he hadn't even recognised seeing her around the school.

“Oh, um yeah, you see that guy?” He pointed over to where Danny was sitting, the boy reading over notes, or something.

“Ah! Yes! I know now. The boy who is next to the pretty girl,”

“Yeah, Danny and Lydia”

Stiles nodded, giving another wave when Lydia looked over, obviously hearing her name. She raised her eyebrows when she saw the new girl, shaking her head and sighing.        

“She did not look very happy, no?” the girl pointed out, smile slipping from her face.

 “Oh, uh, she's just a little bit pissed with me,” Stiles admitted, giving a what-you-going-to-do look.

The girl froze, mouth slightly parted in confusion, “Does that mean she is shouting at you?”

“I'm Stiles!” he quickly greeted, holding out his hand, earnest to change the topic. The girl beamed again, blinding him with the sincerity of her smile, and hopefully forgetting her query about Lydia.

“I am Melaena,” she chirped, gently shaking stiles' hand.

AH!! Of course. Melaena, the new exchange student.

 

“I am very sure we have one other class together, yes?”

“Uh, calc, right?” Stiles conceded, drawing back his arms to scratch the end of his neck.

“Yes! With the annoying teacher who always sleeps on her table, no?” Melaena affirmed enthusiastically, settling comfortably into her seat.

“Yeah, Mrs. Hockley is somewhat nocturnal. She sleeps during classes, and spends her nights wandering drunken round the streets. I'm surprised she still has her job, considering her students have the lowest grades compared to any other teacher. If it weren’t for tutors, everyone would fail her class. I guess we're just lucky that people like Sam Adams exist, right?”

 

Melaena nodded slowing, pursing her lips a little. A small frown appeared on her forehead and Stiles mentally face-palmed himself.

“Fuck, sorry. I'm probably speaking at like, a million miles a minute, right?”

“Oh, no. It is okay. I just find understanding English a bit hard sometimes, no?" Melaena explained, looking embarrassed. Her cheeks flushed, and she looked away.

Shit. Stiles had barely spent five minutes talking to her and he'd already made a perfectly normal situation awkward.

“Hey, but like, you probably speak another language, right? Rumour has it that the gorgeous new girl is an exchange student from Utopia,”

Melaena blushed again, but this time she smiled too, hiding her face in her hands.

“Oh no!” she cried, “Rumour sounds like a very nice person. But I do not know what they look like,” she giggled, tucking a stray strand of hair behind her ear. Stiles couldn't hold back the grin at her ingenuousness. Gosh, she was adorable

“Actually, rumour isn't a person. If I say rumour, I mean-,”

“Stiles! I know what a rumour means. I was only was joking. I am not, uh, _Shakespeare_ \- is that right? - but I know what small words mean,” she said, rolling her eyes. “And I am from Boa Vista, in Brazil. My papa, sorry, _dad_ ,” she tries in a cringe worthy American accent, “Got a new job here. We moved to Beacon Hills only two months ago,”

“Ah, so you speak, like, Brazilian or something?”

“Portuguese,” Melaena corrected, but she stayed tactful, giving a small thumbs up in promise.

“That's really cool,” Stiles marvelled. And he was telling the truth. This girl was a hell lot more interesting than most.

“It is really cool that you are acting like my friend,” Melaena admitted, bashfully, biting her lip and glancing at stiles through her long eyelashes.

Damn, this chick could leave Stiles at a loss for words.

“Oh, well, most pretty foreign girls don't pay much attention to me, so...”

Melaena tilted her head at him, a perplexed look on her face. “I am liking you very much Stiles. I am liking you more than anyone else at the school, and the cheerleader girl with lots of friends said that I was her new 'beastie'” Melaena huffed, putting g air quotes around the word beastie.

“Ah, Sandy Kingman,” Stiles sighed, pretending to look entranced while Melaena laughed merrily behind her hands again. “She called you her bestie, which is definitely, _undoubtedly_ praise coming from someone so high up on the social status board. You may as well get a crown and call yourself Mia Thermopolis. Or maybe Belle. I certainly know a few guys who'd audition for role of Gaston for you,”

Melaena cracked up, drawing a few odd looks from students sitting around them. Stiles only beamed at her, drowning in wonder.

It was rare a girl spoke two words to Stiles. Outside his group of Malia, Lydia and Kira, he wasn't exactly the most experienced with the female species. But Melaena seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. She was certainly finding Stiles amusing, to a certain extent.

 

“You are so funny stiles,” Melaena chuckled, her laughter dying down as she wiped a tear away from her eye. “And I am not Belle,”

“You're not?” Stiles challenged, leaning in.

“Nope!” Melaena declared, sitting up straight and shaking her head. “I do not have a beast,”

Stiles smirked, “I know a certain guy who would be an _excellent_ beast. But I need to tell you, it’s going to take a lot of dancing around with tea pots to cheer him up, because he’s just a little bit too grumpy,” Stiles warned.

Melaena gave a small smile, “Well, you would be a very good prince,”

Stiles choked out… something. It was an indescribable series of stutters and gurgles. Chandler would be proud. Melaena huffed out a laugh, and patted Stiles on the pack, eyes twinkling.

 

She moved over to her side of the desk when the teacher walked in, sharing a small smile with Stiles before facing the front.

But Stiles could only watch her as Mrs Verne droned on and on, analysing every inch of perfection.

 

He was so screwed.

 

 

~~~~

 

 

Stiles practically launched himself onto the cafeteria table. He drove head first into Kira’s salad, and while she only looked mildly confused, Stiles was positive Scott shat himself. Like, ten times. Maybe even a high pitched yelp.

“Scott, buddy, oh ho, my God, okay. You are not even gonna believe me dude. Like, seriously, I just, I need to tell you something awesome and you will seriously-,”

“STILES!” Scott interjected, lifting Stiles off Kira’s lunch and on to a chair, “Slow down. I can barely make out what you’re saying,”

Stiles mutely nodded, before taking a deep breath and continuing, “Okay, so I’m in chemistry and I’m sitting by myself when-,”

“I thought Lydia sat next to you?” Scott countered.

“Yeah, well, not anymore. So listen, I was on my own when-,”

“Why doesn’t Lydia sit next to you?” Kira piped up, looking vaguely interested.

“Because she said it would be a good idea if we took a break,” Stiles sighed, “Anyways, back to the story. I was just sitting and-,”

“What? Why?” Kira griped.

Scott turned to her, “Lydia and Stiles had a little issue last night. I was supposed to tell you, but I forgot,” He looked sheepish, “Sorry,”

Kira smiled, leaning into him, “It doesn’t matter. I know we’ve been hanging out a lot often,”

Scott beamed at her, face simpering, “I like spending time with you. It beats doing most other activities I can think of,”

Kira grinned and tilted her head to kiss Scott, placing a hand on his jaw.

 

What the fuck. Stiles gaped at them, waving his hands around in the hair. Had he just been forgotten? He’d literally been talking to Scott, and the guy had gone and suctioned his mouth to Kira’s. Was he suddenly invisible or something?

They continued their passionate embrace, while Stiles tried desperately not to throw up in Scott’s pasta. Though he’d bet his Christmas money that neither of them wouldn’t notice.

“Um, _hello_? Anyone home? Nope,” Stiles sighed, “I’ll just talk to… _Liam!_ Hey kid,” Stiles yanked Liam down, who lost his footing and fell into Kira’s salad.

Yeah, they didn’t even move.

“You don’t have anyone that you’re desperate to make out with, right now, do you? Or can you listen to me talk about this amazing girl that I have suddenly discovered?”

Liam nodded silently; at the same time that Scott lurched away from Kira and grabbed Stiles by the shoulders. “A _girl_? Dude, what? _Who_?” babbled Scott, Bambi eyes wide with bewilderment.

Stiles smirked, a rush of smug asshole covering over him, “Oh, you know, just the totally gorgeous Brazilian girl that moved here from Utopia. The one who said that she liked me, _me_ , more than anyone else at this school,”

“She can’t be Brazilian and from Utopia together, Stiles,” Lydia briefed, swiftly sitting down, placing a burrito in front of Stiles. She gave him a significant look, and a small wave of relief sweeping him off of his feet. Things were going to be slightly sketchy, where he and Lydia were concerned, but that was okay. They were still best friends. They were still the smartasses of the pack. Lydia just needed some space. And Stiles could give that to her.

 

“What did she say to you?” Scott badgered, fingers digging into Stiles’ skin.

“Well, she said that I was funny, that I was cool, that I would make a good _prince_ , and as I had mentioned before, that she liked me more than anyone else,” Stiles finished. He couldn’t help bragging, especially since this was the most amounts of compliments he’d received in a long time.

“Dude,” Liam said, mouth hanging open in approbation.

“Yeah,” Stiles boasted, “And boy, is she _smoking_. I mean, she’s gorgeous and beautiful and smells like roses dipped in vanilla, but she could light a wet match, she’s that hot,”

 

“Who’s hot?”

Stiles spun his head around to see Malia walking over, steaks pilled high onto her plate.

“Uhhh, the, umm,” he stuttered, unable to vocalize simple thoughts. Damn, Malia wasn’t remotely like most Hale’s Stiles had met, but the intimidating glare gene had been successfully passed down to her. As had the insanely attractive gene.

“The new girl,” Liam answered, as Malia slipped down next to Lydia.

“Melaena,” Stiles muttered, shrinking away from the other side of the table.

“Hmm. It sounds an awful lot like _Malia,_ don’t you think _?_ ” she growled, brutally stabbing her lunch with a plastic knife. Stiles felt sorry for that dead piece of meat.

“Well, I’m not- we don’t real-,”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Malia interjected, corners of her mouth curling up in an almost unnoticeable snarl. But Stiles has become very observant lately, “I don’t care if you like other girls. We’re not together anymore. We parted in a nice, clean, break,”

“Um, what?”

“You clearly like this girl. It was so obvious from the way you were drooling over her in Calc, but no hard feelings. Go get her, tiger,”

“Really?” Stiles asked. He was used to Malia being overprotective. She was lenient and open to options (not that he had many to offer), but she didn’t like him being too overly friendly with other people. Unless they were pack. Derek said it had been some kind of animalistic instinct.

“Yeah,” she shrugged, sitting back, “We _are_ allowed to have girlfriends and boyfriends, Stiles. I won’t get jealous or anything,”

“ _Yeah!_ Sorry, um, yes. That sounds okay. We can manage with that,” Stiles agreed, still ambiguous.

“Great!” Malia grinned, her wolfish side kicking in and contributing to her smile, “I’m so glad we got that- Oh hey!”

She leaned up as a tall boy approached them, swung an arm around his neck and kissed him full on the lips.

 

What the FUCK?

Stiles dropped his burrito.

Lydia fussed.

Scott cleared his throat.

Kira smiled.

Liam was texting on his phone.

 

And Malia was kissing some random stranger. The hell she is.

“Um, sorry, but who the actual _fuck,_ are you?” Stiles suddenly snapped, standing up and ignoring the burrito that was hanging off his shirt.

The boy moved away from Malia and Stiles managed to see his face.

Theo Raeken.

“Hey Stiles,” he said, giving an awkward half wave, half finger dance.

“Theo?” Stiles gawked. “Malia- _Theo!_ ”

“ _Stiles_ ,” Lydia hissed, “Get your ass _down_ ,”

“Theo,” Malia smirked, patting the chair next to her.

“ _THEO?”_

“ _Stiles_!”

“Malia?”

“ _Theo?”_

“ _STILES_!”

“MALIA!”

“Malia?”

“ _Theo!”_

 

“Liam,” Liam muttered, chuckling to himself. Stiles glared at him, before Scott gently tugged at his sleeve, giving him puppy-dog eyes and telepathically begging him to sit. Stiles slouched into his seat with a huff, but continued to scowl at Theo.

 

“Okay,” Scott encouraged nervously, “Now that we know everyone’s name, let’s introduce ourselves _properly_. I’m Scott McCall and I- Hey!” Scott cried, rubbing his arm where Lydia had fruitfully lofted a bottle of water.

“This isn’t supernatural’s anonymous Scott!” Lydia said harshly, frowning at him. She looked at Stiles, “Stiles, you remember Theo, and Theo, you obviously remember Stiles,”

“Yeah, I totally remember you, Stiles,”

“Uh hu,” Stiles muttered, “And why did you randomly feel the unbearable need to start kissing my girlfriend?” he spat, clenching his jaw.

" _Ex_ -girlfriend," Malia reminded him, mischief glinting in her eyes.

“Oh, well, um, we, last night, we-,” Theo stuttered, and Stiles sneered at him, watching him wriggling uncomfortably in his seat. Theo probably didn't know fuck about Stiles, about Malia. About their history. He just saw a single girl, and decided to stick his tongue down her throat. Brownie points to you, buddy. Great way to take advantage of a girl who's still vulnerable after a messy break up (Malia and her clean-break bullshit). Next time, try sticking to your morals.

“You weren’t there,” Scott garbled urgently, when Theo stilled under the intensity of Stiles glare, “And I introduced Malia to Theo…”

“She was really friendly,” Theo glanced at Malia, “And-,”

“And we got on really well, didn't we?” Malia cooed, nuzzling Theo’s jaw.

 

“Nope, nu uh! Stop!” Stiles demanded, getting up from his seat.

“Stiles,” Scott pleaded, looking uncomfortable.

“Yeah _Stiles,_ ” Malia echoed, pursing her lips in a way that could only be described as fucking _evil_. “I thought you said you were cool with all this. You, you’re not- _jealous_ ,” Malia asked, dramatically clutching her heart, “Are you?”

Stiles nearly jumped on her, but Scott leaped up and held him back, “Dude, dude, let it go,” he murmured, softly enough that only Stiles could hear.

“Whatever,” Stiles muttered, shaking Scott off of his arm.

 

He walked off, fuming.

WHAT THE FUCK!!!

Okay, sure, Stiles _had_ agreed that they could see other people. In fact, he’d practically initiated the idea. But he and Malia had been apart for what, all of four days! And she’d already swapped saliva with another guy. At least wait a week or something. Even if you wait a week before making it public. But NO! Malia had to go and stab him in the fucking face. She wasn’t even the slightest bit shameful about it. She was determined to show that Theo was now her new main interest.

And she had the audacity to act like Stiles was being a jerk for liking another girl. Well, she could laugh and point all she wanted, but Stiles wasn’t going to stew in envy.

 

Which was funny, because looking around, he saw a handful of people pointing and laughing. At him.

 

He peered down, and almost screamed in frustration. He had tortilla, chicken and lettuce leaves splattered all down his front. His shoes were almost artfully decorated with blobs of mayonnaise, leaving small puddles whenever he jerked his feet.

 

“Nice shirt Stilinski!” Coach Finstock came up to him, laughing, “Where’d you get it? Mexico?”

“Indonesia sir, but good guess,” Stiles barked back, storming off into the bathroom.

 

He pulled open the tap, water spraying all over him, drenching his attire.

“Fuck,” he grumbled, scrubbing desperately at his clothes.

“Dab, don’t rub,” Lydia advised, sliding up next to him. She held a handful of paper towels, and began to swipe carefully, “You’ll have a better chance of removing the stain that way,”

“Lydia, you do realise we’re in the guys bathroom, right?” Stiles asked.

 

“Yes Stiles,” she sighed, raising an eyebrow questioningly when a freshman ogled at her. “I would have guessed by the disgusting smell and urinals all around me,”

“What are you doing?” he asked, giving up on being lugubrious.

“I’m helping you,” Lydia said, straightening out his shirt, “Look, I know it’s not the safest choice if I’m with you alone and stuff, but you looked like you could use a shoulder,”

“Thanks,”

“Don’t mention it,” Lydia smiled, rumbling through her purse, “Now, I have some hand sanitizer in here. Apply some an-,”

 

A high pitched scream cut her off, and outside a choir of noises burst out. Several more screams sounded, and lots of yelling.

“It’s definitely not me this time,” Lydia muttered, heading out of the bathroom.

Stiles followed her out, only to be engulfed by a swarm of student headed up the hall. He ran with the crowd, calls and cries circling around him. There was some serious sobbing going on up ahead, and Stiles pushed forward until there was no one left to push.

 

The floor was sticky with blood. It covered every inch, splattered against the lockers. Looking towards the front, Stiles nearly threw up.

Because pinned to the wall was a headless girl.

 

 And her skin was charred black. 

 

 

~~~~

 

 

Stiles swung his legs back and forth while Deaton examined the photos. They’d been in his office for over two hours and there hadn’t been a single lead.

 

School was off for the week. During lunch, a group of girls had gone out and hadn’t returned. A junior had been walking to their locker when they saw a headless girl _friggen nailed_ to the wall. It was safe to say that was what commenced the screams.

She was still a Jane Doe. Her body was unrecognisable, torn and ripped to shreds. No one could define a skin tone as it had turned too dark to even be natural. Her insides were barely intact, strewn in a gruesome pattern. This town had seen some pretty weird shit in the past, but this was too new to be any kind of familiar.

 

The Sheriff and Parrish had taken on the case themselves. Mainly because they were the only two who knew about supernatural beings and that the cause for all these deaths would be linked. If another member of the law enforcement came on board, something wouldn’t look right. Tests would be run, theories researched, and before you knew it – Everyone knew about Beacon Hills. It was too big a risk. They had to be careful with who they let in.

 

So of course their biggest bet was Deaton- the only person whom could be described as professional that they knew.

Stiles called his dad to bring some kind of photographic evidence for Deaton to analyse, while Scott had rung up Derek. What the guy could help them with was beyond Stiles. He was as useful as a loaf of bread, in this situation. No, scratch that. A loaf of bread was ten times more useful than Derek. Stiles hadn’t even had a proper lunch yet, and he was begging to get antsy.

 

“Anything Doc?” Stiles asked, jumping off the counter and swinging next to Deaton, who was still staring intently at the pictures.

“Nothing yet, but these markings on the victim’s body are somewhat familiar. If you give me a few more days, I’m sure I can figure out what these runes mean,” Deaton muttered, still frowning, “I know that everything happening has something to do with one another, but I can’t find a key,”

 

“What if they’re all linked in a different way,” a voice mentioned from the back of the room.

 

Stiles spun round to glower at Theo, who was leaning against the wall. Scott had insisted in bringing him along, desperately telling Stiles that he had to get used to the way things worked.

“I just want him to meet Deaton,” Scott had whispered franticly on the way over, “We’re there half the time, and I need to make sure he’s comfortable. I really want him to join the pack, Stiles,”

 

So now Theo was part of their little group. And it irked Stiles to no end. But the upside- and boy was there an upside -was that it irked Derek too.

The guy definitely hated Theo. He hadn’t stopped glaring at him, from the minute he stepped out of the Camaro. Theo seemed to ooze confidence, but even _his_ posture managed to quiver when Derek stared him down. The famous Hale Glare had emerged. And it was being put to _very_ good use.

 

“Explain what you mean?” Deaton questioned Theo, but he sounded interested.

“You’ve been looking at all the physical similarities, right?” Theo asked, while Deaton nodded, “Well, what about the more mental similarities?”

“Mental?” Deaton asked, beckoning for Theo to confirm for him properly.

“Yeah, look, I’ll show you,” Theo bounded over to Deaton, and Scott followed in tow. The three of them huddled together, talking in hushed voices, like if anyone else heard a secret would be revealed

 

Stiles rolled his eyes and sidled up to Derek, who was breathing heavily through his nose.

 

“If I suddenly go and rip his head off,” the werewolf growled, voice low and menacing, “Do _not_ , hesitate to help,”

Stiles grinned, “I’ll supply the body bag, if you want,”

“Who does he think he is?” Derek scoffed, practically scorching holes into the back of Theo’s head, “King of England?”

“England doesn’t have a king,” Stiles supplied.

Derek ignored him, “He told me that I should have more control over my pack. Like fuck I should! No one asked him to come along,”

“He’s dating Malia,” Stiles grumbled, needing to let out a whinge or two, “Didn’t even ask around. What happened to the bro-code? You _always_ ask if she’s recently broken up. But he didn’t. King Theo, sitting up on his high horse, going around and making life miserable,”

 

Derek spluttered, but managed to cover it up with a fake cough. “You managing everything else okay, though?”

Stiles peered at him, “Everything else?”

“You know. Lydia, the attacks, hallucinations. Shit like that,”

“Oh, um, yeah, I guess. I’m just a little worried in case someone tries to tear my throat out and all I have to protect myself is a baseball bat,”

“You could always fight back,” Derek advised, “A little muscle power can never hurt,”

“Yeah it can,” Stiles put it, “That’s actually why we use it,”

“Don’t be a smartass,” Derek prodded Stiles, “I _mean_ , it might help you. If you ever need help, or something,”

“Hmm, yeah. How about no,”

“Why not?”

“Because I can’t fight?” Stiles offered, “Or because last time I hit something, I broke my fist,”

“I can teach you,”

“What?” Stiles spluttered.

“I _said_ , I can _teach_ you,” Derek grunted, “Unless you want to handle crazy serial killers on your own, with a lack of experience, which would most likely get you killed…”

“You’re a dick,” Stiles spat, but he looked up at Derek, “You mean it?”

“Sure,” Derek said, staring Stiles in the eye, “What’s there to lose?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tell me what you think, my precious little honeydews!
> 
> -Gobi


	10. I can't see clearly, even though the rain has gone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Whatever struck you must have possessed you, or whatever. Given you some source of energy. I wouldn’t think too much into it. It’s happened before,”  
> “Really?”  
> “Yeah. You’re anger must have ignited the strength. There’s rituals and other shit you can do to exchange power or inner energy. I did it with Cora,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I guess I should explain. These past few weeks have been so incredibly hectic. I've been bombarded with tests and exams, I've barely had a moment to breathe. I finally managed to upload this chapter, bit I'm not sure I'll have one for Wednesday. I'm so sorry, please bare with me.
> 
> ANYWAY! Ah, new chapter. So i really like the idea of spark!Stiles, and I've played around with that a little bit. Also, some mild violence here, but in the first part. If you din't want that, just skip it. Also some more Sterek. Because I'm evil.  
> Kudos and comments welcome, as always!

He was going to fucking stab Theo.

 

Stiles was a reasonable guy. Okay, he was quick to jump the gun sometimes, and he did judge a person too soon, but that wasn’t so bad. He was only human (ha-ha) and everyone judged others and some point in life. He wasn’t perfect. That was fine.

But he _did_ try. And try he fucking did. When new assholes suddenly pop up into your life, your first instinct is to shove a dead rat down their throat. Maybe even squirrel or badger. Stiles deserved a fucking place in the Hall of Fame for keeping Mother Nature’s corpses away from Theo Raeken’s oesophagus.

 

The guy had barely been here for a week, and had already given Stiles the strength to launch a lacrosse ball straight into his groin. It would surely count as a goal. And was definitely justified.

The dick had stolen Stiles’ girlfriend. And boy was he still as pissed as Satan peeing on pregnancy stick about it. Yeah, it was a bit of a relief having Malia off his back. If she’d remained unhappy, and he was seeing everything the wrong way, it’s good that they ended things. But she had to go and fuck it all up by getting all cosy with Theo Raeken. _Who_ , by the way, didn’t even care that Stiles and Malia had a past.

To add to the fucking basket of positivity, Scott had now found his new best-bud. Stiles knew that Scott _could_ become a little infuriated because no one really understood the effects of being a male supernatural-whatever at that exact age. Stiles was human, Kira, Lydia and Malia were female (that didn’t stop them from kicking ass, though) Peter was a creep, Derek acted like Scott had no brain, and Liam was so naïve he probably didn’t _have_ a functioning brain. Seriously, you could paint a dildo on his forehead and the kid wouldn’t know something was up. Bless.

But the thing was, Theo ticked all of the boxes that everyone else failed to meet. Scott was now having actual _bonding_ sessions with Theo. They’d had long talks about co-managing the pack and everything. Stiles felt like skewering wolfsbane arrows into Scott’s chest, just to make him think straight. And to make him freak out. Only Theo would be there to remove the blades and kiss the wounds all better. Suck up.

 

He’d also started taking charge of Derek’s loft. Although, that had virtually nothing to do with Stiles. In fact, if he didn’t despise the asshole so much, he might even laugh at the way Derek’s eyebrows collided when Theo told him to order a new couch. The guy was _not_ used to being told what to do. Scott had to send Theo to the kitchen, just to make sure Derek wouldn’t tear off any limbs out of Theo’s mangled body and sell them to a black market so he could get the money he needed for this must-have couch. Derek’s words- not Stiles’.

 

But it was _Derek’s loft_. That was their tree house, their HQ, their sleepover site, their breakfast club. If a pack meeting was to be held- hold it Derek’s. Even if the wolf wasn’t there. Each of them had a key made, so it wasn’t too much of a hassle. The room was made to suite all provisions. Each of them had their own spot to nap on, their own cupboard filled with items of their choice. _They had a system!_ Why go through that entire trouble, and spend three hours planning out shit if no one’s going to use it properly?

 

Stiles had tried explaining to Scott, but his best friend had simply brushed him off. Acted like Stiles was making a big deal out of nothing. The hell he was.

Even so. It wasn’t anything that couldn’t be handled. Stiles had decided to keep calm, and let the chips fall where they may.

 

Until the fateful day Theo decided to get himself killed drive Stiles’ Jeep. One way ticket to _mother fucking hell_.

 

You can make out with his girlfriend. You can steal Scott, redecorate the den, and say that Loki was a slimy asshole who deserved what he got. You can steal his curly fries. But you cannot, _cannot,_ drive Roscoe like she belongs to any nameless piece of shit that walks by, because she does not. She belonged to his mom. And watching Theo drive around the parking lot laughing at the way the Jeep’s engine kept on spluttering did something to Stiles. His wires snapped. The fizzled out and died, setting free his control. Anger boiled up inside of him, scorching every nerve, demolishing any small piece of sanity remaining. His fists curled up by his sides when Theo stopped his car, and hopped out, banging the side of the door.

 

“Nice car, dude!” Theo called out, drumming on the window, “How much did they pay you to take it?”

Stiles let out a ragged breath from his nose, trying to keep calm. He sensed Scott turn stiff next to him, but the guy didn’t say anything. Stiles wouldn’t have expected him to. Theo could tear apart every last inch of metal and Scott would only worry at his lip.

“Fuck off, Theo,” Stiles snarled, stomping towards his Jeep. Theo tossed the keys in the air, and Stiles fumbled to catch them, trying with all his might not to stab Theo in the face when the idiot let out a rueful cackle. Seriously, who the fuck even cackles?

“No, I’m serious,” Theo egged, obviously not realising how close Stiles was to losing it, “What kind of dumbass buys this piece of shit when there are _properly functioning cars_ out there?”

Stiles spun around on his heel, squaring up and glaring at Theo. “My mom, that’s who. _She_ bought this totally awesome piece of shit, and now it’s _my_ totally awesome piece of shit. Get it?You got anything else to say or can I drive the fuck away from you? Your breath smells like horse shit”

Theo smirked, staring down at Stiles, “Nope. Just the fact that I was right when I said that the crazy gene runs in your family,”

 

If there had been a crowd, they would have gasped. The pack certainly did. Collective intakes of breath surrounding Stiles while Theo continued to look smug.

“What the fuck did you just say?” Stiles whispered, narrowing his eyes. He dared Theo to repeat himself, just so he could punch the shit out of that guy.

“I said,” Theo grinned, “That your mom could-,”

Stiles didn’t let him finish. Before he knew it, he’d swung his arm and jammed his fist into Theo’s chin.

 

To be perfectly honest, Stiles wasn’t too sure what to expect. In the heat of the moment, he’d used a hell of a lot force, enough to probably send a human staggering slightly. But not a werewolf. A werewolf shouldn’t even have flinched, forget fly off their feet and onto the floor. Which is what Theo did. He was thrown off of his feet, and went crashing head first into the ground, his body colliding with the back of the Jeep.

But the adrenaline was now pumping through Stiles. He leaped onto Theo’s crooked body, straddling him. It took him only a split second to launch the second hit, connecting his fist with Theo’s jaw. Damn, that felt good. He felt lighter than before, like he was able to tear Theo apart with only his hands. Obviously, that’s not what happened. But Stiles did land a few good punches to Theo’s flawless face, pride surging through his bones as he watched blood spurt from his nose, his mouth, his friggen neck. A nail must’ve caught on the skin.

 

The hits continued to arrive, and Theo met them helplessly, head thrashing from side to side. Stiles could only just hear his named being screamed by someone, people shrieking at him to stop. He might have even heard weeping. He couldn’t be too sure. All he knew was that each time Theo cried out in pain, a forced urged him on to beat the guy harder.

 

“Please,” Theo begged, tears running down his bloody cheek, “Please, Stiles. Stop,”

“Next time,” punch “Think about,” punch “What you say,” punch “When talking about _my dead mom!”_

Stiles grabbed Theo by the throat, but was yanked off before he could do some serious damage. A heavy hand tightened around the collar of his shirt, dragging him away while Theo gasped for breath. The guy was a bloody mess, crumbling into a ball and heaving while Malia and Kira ran to him. Malia wrapped her arms around him, rocking him back and forth, muttering some soothing shit into his raw ears.

 

Stiles struggled in the stranger’s rigid grip, determined to make Theo break. He had never hated someone this much, but at that moment, Stiles was willing to take the guy’s life.

Looking up, he saw Scott holding his arms back, restraining him.

“Fuck off, Scott!” Stiles spat, wrestling with his best friend. “Let me go!”

“Stiles, you have to calm down!” Scott yelled in his ear, “Stop, fucking _moving_! God damn it,”

“Let me go, Scott,” Stiles wriggled more desperately than before, “Before something happens to you, too,”

Scott’s eyes went wide, his face turning chalk white. Stiles had never threatened Scott so menacingly before, had never meant it so much.

“Stiles,” Scott’s voice shook, like he was seconds away from breaking. Stiles took this moment of weakness to burst through Scott’s iron hold, shoving him back. Scott stumbled onto the floor, but leaped off the minute he fell. Stiles bared his teeth, waiting for Scott to attack him, ready for anything.

 

He wasn’t expecting someone to hit his head from the back.

 

Stiles staggered, the parking lot spinning around him. He soon collapsed onto the hard gravel, eyes heavy and sore.

 _I’ve been in this position way too much lately_ were his lasts thoughts before he blacked out completely.

 

~~~~

 

Stiles slowly opened his eyes, blinking a few times to rid of the blur. His head throbbed from the back, like someone had rammed a bulldozer into his skull and switched it on high power mode. Which is probably what happened, right? He tries to let out a cough, but his throat feels like rocks were sharpened with its flesh. It even stings when he tries to breath.

 

The last thing Stiles remembers is being wacked from behind and falling to the floor. Who and what clubbed him remained unknown. He didn’t see a face or hear a voice. Just the faint sound of metal clattering in sync with Stiles when he fell.

He rubs his fore-head, trying to ease the dull ache that stays there. It was like an annoying wasp at a picnic. Not doing an extreme amount of damage, but still fucking troublesome. Feeling around, his fingers travelled to the back of his hair, sticking to a small wet patch. When he retracts them and takes a glance, they’re stained red.

 

Stiles slowly sits up, waiting for the room to stop spinning before he takes it in. He’s not in his bedroom, or Scott’s house. He’s not even in the veterinary clinic. No. Right now, he’s lying half dazed on Derek fucking Hale’s couch, in his newly redecorated loft. The lights are dimmed, but there’s a clattering coming from the kitchen, the sound of a tap being run. Concentrating, Stiles can also the faint hum of music. He doesn’t recognise the song, but it sounds like something his dad would have danced to at a wedding. Stiles twists his head, looking over the edge of the couch. He can vaguely make out Derek washing something in the sink, working in silence. It’s strange to see the werewolf so relaxed; doing actions that would be so ordinary to the regular person. But it’s clear that nothing about Derek is regular, or even close to regular.

Yet Stiles can’t stop staring at the way he taps his foot every few minutes, moves fluidly from table to table. His face is a mask of focus, neutral yet attentive. And Stiles can’t stop staring. Stalker much? And that too, with Derek. Fuck, look away, look away.

 

He quickly whips his head around, fixes his crumpled and slightly bloody clothes. With a deep breath, Stiles gets up from the couch and walks silently over to the kitchen. Derek still doesn’t seem to notice, so he clears his throat, hoping he sounds offhand, and not like he was gawking at the guy clearing up. Derek’s head perks up, and he pivots around, eyebrows firing high when he sees Stiles.

 

“You’re up?” he asks, voice low and gruff. Stiles stomach flips at the sound, and he wills his heart to beat a little slower. Who knew that he could feel so daunted by a guy in a wife beater?

“Uh, yeah, I guess,” Stiles manages to get out, shifting uncomfortably from foot to foot. Derek strides over and Stiles panics for a moment, until he sees a glass of water in Derek’s hand. He takes it, gulping down gratefully. His mouth doesn’t feel so dry anymore, the cooling water soothing his raw throat.

“Thanks,” Stiles puffed out, setting the empty glass by the sink, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He sunk his hands into his pockets shuffling uneasily, “How, um, how long was I out?”

Derek leaned against the counter, his face void of any emotion, “A couple of hours, give or take,”

Stiles couldn’t help scornful scoff, shaking his head. “I feel like I’m being told that too often these days,”

Derek hummed, walking out of the kitchen and fitting himself into the sofa. He stretched his neck a little, before looking over his shoulder and significantly gesturing to the spot next to him with his eyes.

“You want me to sit?” Stiles asks doubtfully.

“If you’d rather stand, then…”

Stiles scampers uncoordinated to the couch, plonking himself next to Derek. He slips down into the leather, unable to hold back a small sigh that escapes his lips from the relief on his back. It’s starting to hurt like a bitch for some reason, and Stiles can only imagine what happened after he conked out. Maybe he was dragged all the here by his feet, blood oozing like a burst pipe from his head. Or perhaps after Rapunzel had hit him with her frypan, had decided to impale his back as well. Though how would she have known Derek’s address? Stiles tipped his head to the side, staring curiously at Derek’s blank face.

“Is there a dead princess in here or something?”

Derek just lifts his eyebrows in a ‘ _what the actual fuck are you on about_?’

“How hard did you hit your head Stiles?”

Stiles glared at Derek, huffing through his nostrils. “I don’t know, I wasn’t there to calculate the damage,”

Derek’s expression stayed frustratingly neutral.

“ _Really_! You need to talk, dude” Stiles burst agitatedly, sitting up straight then groaning because the sudden movement wasn’t exactly stable for his head. His stomach feels like a tidal wave of nausea building up inside, and Stiles slouches down again, letting his head sink into the softness of the cushions. He can’t help the way his eyelids slowly drop down, closing him off from the rest of the room. Derek’s loft was beginning to tip to the side slightly, and Stiles could bet it wasn’t because of earth tremors.

 

“You’re not dying or anything, right?”

Stiles eyes snapped open, and he gave a fake smile to an amused looking Derek

“Oh, ha fucking ha. You really know how to tickle someone’s pickle, don’t you? Stiles isn’t human, so just because he was hit with a battling axe he’s going to die. First prize for observation,”

“You were hit with a battling axe?” Derek asked in all sincerity, eyebrows furrowing.

“You _seriously_ don’t know?” Derek shook his head, while Stiles gawked. “Then how did you find me?”

“I didn’t find you,” Derek revealed, sounding remotely surprised, “I was reading up on a few books Deaton lent me when Scott barged in, with your unconscious bloody body slung over his shoulder. I barely got ‘hello’ out, when he dropped you onto the floor. He looked pretty beaten up. I was told that someone would come back to pick you up in a few hours and then he stormed out. So I cleaned your wound, put you on the couch and waited for you to wake up,”

 

Stiles is silent for a few moments. Who hit him was still unknown, but the fact that Scott was mad at him isn’t necessarily a secure sign. The guy knows how much Theo ticks him off, and although this outburst wasn’t normal for Stiles, Scott should’ve cut him some slack. Shit keeps on hitting the fan lately, and there’s not exactly a list of things Stiles can do to keep himself clear of the mess.

 

“Scott didn’t say anything else?” Stiles asked numbly, after what was probably an endless era of silence.

“Nothing,”

Stiles sighs, dropping his head into his hands. Everything was a mess, not much really made sense, and this was the last thing Stiles needed. He just wanted it to stop.

“I’ll bet this is karma for calling Scott an idiot, or something,” Stiles mutters, the sound coming out muffled through the gaps of his fingers. He feels a small pressure, and looks up to see Derek gently prising them away.

“Stiles,” Derek frowns, looking concerned, “What happened?”

“I beat up Theo,”

Derek pauses, disbelief clouding over his face, “That’s it? You beat up Theo?”

“Yeah,”

“There’s more to the story, Stiles,” Derek presses, “I need to you tell me more,”

Stiles shakes his head, “There’s nothing more to tell. But you don’t understand. I beat up Theo, a freaking _werewolf_ -,”

“Theo’s actually a chimera,” Derek quietly ads’, subtly ignoring the glare Stiles throws at him. Jerk.

“I don’t care! The bottom line is that I beat up a fricken supernatural creature, with my _bare hands_! That doesn’t concern you any in way?!”

Derek’s frown deepens, “It does, but I think it has something to do with Saturday night,”

Stiles resisted the urge to sing.

“Whatever struck you must have possessed you, or whatever. Given you some source of energy. I wouldn’t think too much into it. It’s happened before,”

“Really?”

“Yeah. You’re anger must have ignited the strength. There’s rituals and other shit you can do to exchange power or inner energy. I did it with Cora,”

“You did,” Stiles says quietly, noticing how Derek’s eyes soften sadly. “But that doesn’t explain how it happened with _me_. I’m human, I can’t convert power. Quite frankly, I don’t think I have anything to actually give,”

“You’re a spark,” Derek points out, looking bemused, “I’ve witness you do things that no _‘human’_ could normally do,”

“Yeah, well, that was a quick road to nowhere,” Stiles mutters, growing annoyed. “Deaton’s tried to train me and shit, but it all leads to empty ravines,”

“That doesn’t mean there’s nothing there. You just need to find your anchor,”

“What?”

“Werewolves use their anchors to control shifting,” Derek starts to explain, “Though they also use it to find themselves. It’s usually our human side that we try to find, but it even gives us grasp of our non-human side,”

“So you’re saying that my anchor will help me find my spark,”

“And help you control it,” Derek concludes, nodding and seeming satisfied. “I’m pretty sure if you Google up the definition of anchor, there’ll be a summary of everything I’ve said,”

“Arrogant asshole,” Stiles chuckles, falling to his side when Derek uses a heavy arm to push him over.

“This arrogant asshole kept you from bleeding to death,”

“You probably didn’t want your carpet to spoil,” Stiles jokes, leaping away with a yelp when Derek bares his fangs. He’s not really scared, obviously. It’s been years now, since Stiles stopped flinching whenever Derek flashed his eyes. Everything’s all playful. And it’s nice. There’s no more angry tension between them. Okay, quite a few heated arguments, but what two people don’t have that? It can be classified as healthy.

“Okay, okay! Spare me, fearful beast!” Stiles raises his hands above his head in surrender. Derek shakes his head away, laughing. Stiles can’t help but grin back.

“Do want to stay for dinner?” Derek suggests, walking towards the kitchen. “I was about to sit down, but now that you’re awake, we could-,”

 

“ _Derek_?”

 

They both turn around to see Braeden entering the loft, heavy bags swinging around her ankles as she closes the door behind her. Her cheeks are flushed, and her hair tumbles out of a loose ponytail, yet she still manages to be beautiful. She looks placidly surprised to see Stiles standing awkwardly in the living room, but beams at him all the same.

“Hey Stiles,” she greets cheerfully, before glancing up at Derek, “Hi babe, sorry I didn’t call earlier. Work kept me back, and my phone ran out of charge…”

“Don’t worry about it,” Derek shakes his head, walking over and wrapping his arms around Braeden. She snuggles in happily, letting him plant a kiss to her head.

They look cute together, Stiles realises after watching the two of them embrace. And he’s being a perverted weirdo staring. He clears his throat, trying to compose his heart beat when Derek looks up.

“Shit, sorry Stiles. I’ll get started on that dinner,” Derek looks down at Braeden, “How does lasagne sound?”

“Perfect,” she says, kissing his lips softly. She pulls back smiling, and Stiles can feel his stomach sink.

 _Wow, you really miss Malia_. It’s bad if he gets jealous of Derek’s love life. Braeden casts a look to Stiles.

“You’re welcome to join us, Stiles,” she offers, “We wouldn’t mind,”

Derek nods, looking hopeful. A small part of Stiles is desperate to stay. He doesn’t want to face the loneliness of his room, and company might be a good thing. But a bigger, more sensible part of him, knows it best to decline.

“I’m fine,” Stiles insists, waving them off with a hand, “I should probably be getting back, text Scott. He’s probably worried,”

Sure, Scott’s worried. Maybe not. Pigs will fly sooner.

“What happened?” Braeden asks, noticing the pile of bloodied tissues clumped up by the sofa. Huh. Stiles hadn’t even seen that they were there.

“Stiles fell over,” Derek lies, not looking at Stiles. “Hit his head pretty hard,”

“Are you okay?” Braeden implored, sounding unnaturally concerned.

“Who, me?” Stiles stuttered, his voice rising is pitch. Damn, he had to learn how to lie, “Oh, uh, yeah. Sure, I’m, um, I’m fine,” Any higher and he’d be Ross. “It would be best if I got some sleep though. On my bed. At my house. Which is where I’ll be going,”

“I’ll drive you,” Derek announced, “Let me get my keys and-,”

“No, really, I’ll be fine,” Stiles pressed, scrambling towards the door, “The walk will do me good. Some fresh air. And it’s only like, a half hour,”

“Stiles, it’s the middle of December,” Braeden argued, “If you don’t freeze your dick off, then you’ll at least get hit by car in the pitch black,”

“Well then you’d better make sure you start planning some awesome eulogies for me,” Stiles joked, trying not to let the apprehension creep into his voice. Derek was already looking at him strangely. “I’ll see you two soon,”

 

Stiles opened the door, looking back over his shoulder and giving a small wave. “Thanks for taking care of my practically dead carcase, Derek. Enjoy your lasagne. It tastes good with basil,”

After Derek nodded, Stiles left, clamouring out and shutting the door before they could protest anymore. He ran down the stairs, the tight space of the building making feel like he was being closed in on. His throat felt raw again, his breathing harsh.

 

Bursting out the main entrance, Stiles swallowed great gulps of air, resting his hands on his knees, trying not to collapse onto the ground.

 

 

~~~~

 

 

The light on his desk flickered. Shadows casting onto the messy table, papers strewn like leaves in a park. His room was engulfed in darkness, other than the lambent beam climbing through his lamp. A steady hum droned through the speakers of his laptop, and Stiles desperately scanned the writing on the screen. He’d sat here for hours, researching on transferring energy and strength from one body through to another. Empty pages full of stories on death and conversion. Succubus and incubus. Doppelgangers and echidnas. Shades and sirens. Been there and done all of fucking that. Stiles had had face to face experiences with some of these people, and had left a few times with phone numbers. But never had he come across hypnotic, energy feeding, human enchanting, head decapitating floating angels. Yeah, that was the official definition now.

 

He pushed his chair away from his desk, sighing into his hands. This was getting frustrating. He needed more information on what happened. More detail of impact. And unanswered texts to Scott weren’t getting him anywhere. Stiles had messaged him at least fifty times in the past half hour, and no reply. If people wanted him to find out about shit, they had to communicate. He hadn’t had much luck with the rest of the pack either.

Malia wasn’t replying to any of his calls. So much for “we’ll stay friends”. The girl was pissed with him, even though _she_ was the one who dumped _him_. It didn’t happen any other way.

Lydia had specifically advised for each other to keep their distance. Whether it was in a physical or cellular sense, Stiles wasn’t taking any risks.

Kira wasn’t all too close with Stiles, and texting each other isn’t exactly something they do often. The occasional greeting was passed between them, but aside from that, all the talking was face to face.

And Liam was a lost cause. Stiles had sent a **_Hello_** when he’d reached home, and the kid sent back **_it’s me_ ** almost immediately. An hour later he got a musical note emoji, and that was all. Bless.

 

Checking his phone one last time, Stiles growled in frustration. Nothing. He drummed his fingers on his chair, thinking about earlier on, when a knock snapped him out of daze. It was familiar. Stiles was expecting an “Elsa?” to come after. The knock again.

“Anna?” Stiles called out, getting off his chair. Opening his door, he didn’t see a short, ginger Disney princess. Instead he saw an uncomfortable looking Scott.

“Nope, just me,” Scott chuckled, giving an awkward grin. Stiles opened the door wider, silently inviting him in.

They both took a seat on Stiles’ bed, not making eye contact or talking. Stiles broke the silence with a cough, “I guess I should start,” he said, while Scott nodded.

 

“I don’t know what’s going on with me,” Stiles began, “I wish I did but I don’t. I, I feel different. Like I’ve always got a noose around my neck. I feel like if I slip up, someone’s watching me. It’s like a small panic attack, but _all the time_. Everyone acts different around me. It’s like I’m not Stiles,”

Stiles gets off the bed and walks towards his window. He stares out, the black sky glowing with freshness, opposed to the thickness in the atmosphere of his room, “I don’t know what happened with Malia, or Lydia. I’m so fucking sick of Theo, but I didn’t think _that_ would happen. I don’t know _how_ it happened,”

 

“I think I do,” Scott murmured. Stiles whipped around, to see him standing. Scott eyes are drawn to the floor, his lips pressed into a line.

“You do? Derek thought it was an energy exchange, and that I-,”

“No Stiles,” Scott interrupts, “It was nothing like that,”

“Well, then tell me!” Stiles exclaims, “It might get us closer to solving this shit pile,”

“I don’t think _this_ ,” Scott gestured vaguely with his hands, looking up, “Has anything to do with the angel-thing,”

Scott takes a deep breath, almost seeming to summon strength from the air, “Stiles, we’ve been friends for a long time. We don’t keep secrets, we don’t hide anything. Every single detail in my life I tell you. Vice-versa. And when I’m going through tough times, and I feel like falling apart a little, I tell you then as well,”

“Scott, what are you-,”

Scott holds up a hand, silencing him, “I know this break up must’ve been hard for you. And I get it. Your first relationship and all. Plus seeing Malia move on so quickly,”

“You’re really strengthening my ego, bro,” Stiles mutters. Scott either doesn’t hear, or ignores him. And considering circumstance, Stiles was going for the latter.

“I’m going to support you no matter what, dude. But I need to be honest with me,” Scott looks him dead in the eye, grim set on his face, “Are you taking drugs?”

 

Stiles’ brain stops for a minute. He freezes, growing still, before he bursts out laughing. Oh, too funny. And sure enough, Scott laughs as well. They both see their mistakes, make amends, and all turns out well.

 

Which is what happens in a parallel universe somewhere. You know, one where tigers work in vegan restaurants and Kanye West is female.

That doesn’t happen here. No, instead, Stiles fizzles with anger.

“Seriously?” Stiles grits, “That’s the bullshit you come out with? _THAT’S YOUR FUCKING IDEA!?”_

Scott’s eyes widen in surprise, “Stiles, I didn’t-“

“What the _fuck_?!” Stiles yells, spitting at Scott, “Dude, where the _hell_ have you been? I’m the _sheriff’s_ son! You would think he’d be able to spot weed on me a mile away!”

“I know that!” Scott argues, voice growing louder, “But what happened with Theo wasn’t normal. I mean, some sort of Steroids or…”

“You’re ridiculous,” Stiles snarls, glaring at Scott, “You’re fucked up, that’s what you are!”

“Don’t toe it, Stiles,” Scott warns, squaring up to him.

“I’ll toe it all I fucking like! I thought you were going to come here and we could talk this shit out _properly_. Not so you could fucking accuse me of taking fuck-all,” Stiles’ breathing get harsher, and his head fills with a buzzing sound, tension flooding through his veins.

“Fuck you Stiles!” Scott spat, narrowing his eyes, “I just wanted to help!”

“Well you didn’t do a very good job then did you?! Some fucking help this was,”

Stiles spins round, furious and panting. He can’t see, can’t think. His vision blurs, and all he can feel is that anger in him again. The anger that approached him just before he beat up Theo. The anger that engulfed him before he near killed a person. The only person here is Scott, and Stiles knows that he can’t do anything to him. No matter how much his rage pleads for it. Stiles’ toes curl, his neck stiffens. With a yell he pulls his arm back and hits the wall. It contacts with a solid crunch, paint crumbling around his fingers. He stares at his fist embedded into the plaster for a few seconds, and doesn’t realise he’s alone until he hears the front door slam threateningly downstairs.


	11. You know your own fears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott had officially shunned him. They hadn’t spoken after the argument, and something told Stiles that they weren’t going to hug it out anytime soon. Which Stiles was fine with, by the way. He didn’t need an asshole best friend buzzing in his ear, twenty-four seven. It only made lunch really awkward, because Stiles couldn’t talk to Malia, or Lydia, or Theo. And now that Scott was off limits, so was Kira. That left Liam. Who was as equivocal to Stiles as a piece of stale oak wood was to a racoon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys. Sorry for the long update. I hope you had a fantastic Christmas though!!!! four exclamation marks;)
> 
> A quick reminder, because something has been causing a bit off confusion. In chapter four, I mentioned in the notes that Stiles had once said he was bi, but I edited it and changed it so he thinks he's straight. STILES THINKS HE IS STRAIGHT SO FAR IN THE FIC. HE DOES NOT FIND MEN ATTRACTIVE (SO FAR) AND IS ADAMANT TO CONVINCE HIMSELF AND OTHERS THAT HE IS ONE HUNDRED PERCENT HETEROSEXUAL. STILES IS AN IDIOT and I do not know why I am typing in uppercase letters. I just wanted to clear up any blanks spaces because y'all might be here like  
> " WTF GURL U SAID STILES LIKE DEREKS BOOTY"  
> And I be sitting alone in my room laughing like  
> "AHAHAHA I FORGOT TO TELL YOU GUYS A KEY FACTOR OF THIS PEICE IF SHITTY FANCITION. Please spare me"
> 
> No one wants that.  
> Soooo sorry again, and I hope my pathetic attempts of being hip and "cool" didn't make you want to physically impale a knife through your eyes.
> 
> I have too many issues for a 14 year old brown girl.  
> (I just told you a bunch of personal shit about myself. Mother is disappointed)  
> -Gobi

The Sheriff walked into the kitchen while Stiles was blearily munching through a bowl of sodden cereal. Scraping back a chair, he slumped down in a seat, reaching for a ready-made mug of coffee. Stiles eyed him when his dad shut his eyes, leaning back and sighing.

“Tough day?” Stiles asked, swallowing.

“Tough week,” John muttered, rubbing his face, “This case is being filed as murder, and no one has a damn clue of how it happened,”

“Case?”

“The one from your school?”

“Oh,” Stiles winced, remembering. How could he have forgotten? The talk of Beacon Hills was the strange dead girl who was found strung-up and headless. It had taken three whole days to try and get the blood stains off of the floors. “Is there anything further on the case?”

The Sheriff dropped his head into his hands, groaning slightly, “A large group of children went missing. All from your school, all from your year,”

“Shit,” Stiles mutters, grimacing.

“Language,” John corrects half heartedly, “But shit pretty much describes it. There is a mix of boys and girls disappeared, but it’s clear that the victim was female. We’re all out of leads, too,”

“What about the other murders?” Stiles asks, leaning in on his elbows. In the past, they’ve had series of killings occur. But there’s always been a pattern, relations. Individuals had either died in a certain way, or mysterious people have been seen nearby.

“Naught,” the Sheriff admits, “They’re all miles apart in similarity. Nothing links them, there aren’t any ties. Each one slightly more absurd than the last. The only thing they have in common is a card found in their wallets. But I don’t see how…” He tails off, lifting his face from his hands and looking lost.

“What do mean by a card?” Stiles questions, confused.

“A group of construction workers,” John starts of, “Ten, to be precise. They visited a new bar opening in the city. Called Argo Crudes, something weird like that. All going for a night out one day, the next - found at the bottom of Myers Lake with their intestines pulled out,”   

Stiles shudders at the thought, “What about the rest?”

“The school teacher went with her colleagues the week before. They were celebrating a promotion, stayed for a few hours, had several drinks, and went home. They all said she was fine in the morning, but you know what happened, right?”

Stiles nodded morosely.

“And finally, your peers. They went out for a drink, used fake IDs. Now they’re gone, and the only thing found in the lockers we searched that was remotely new, was the card,”

“Well, have you visited the bar?” Stiles asks, “Questioned them, or anything?”

“It’s too coincidental too delve into with further investigation. Countless people go there every day, and it’s simply by chance that these people decided to go there too. I’m sure they all went to Walmart or Target at some point, right?”

“I guess,”

 

“Don’t get yourself involved in this, we’ve got it covered,” the Sheriff assures, “I’ve been doing this job for nearly twenty years, Stiles,”

“Yeah, but only three of those years have you known about supernatural stuff,” Stiles reminds, trying to sound tactile, “And this is _definitely_ supernatural related. Have you spoken to Deaton?”

“The guy doesn’t know anymore than we do. He’s pretty positive that the new bar is a key focal point, but I just don’t see it,”

 

John stands, picking up his mug and making his way over to the sink. He washes in silence, staring out the window. Stiles can easily see the dark circles rimming his eyes once again, and guilt fills inside of him. His dad still doesn’t know about what happened with the “angel”, and even though it could possibly help with solving any hidden questions, Stiles wasn’t prepared on telling him any time soon.

“Okay then, dad,” Stiles blurts, springing up from his seat, “Good luck with... this. I’ll see you later tonight,”

“Oh, I won’t be home tonight,” the Sheriff picked up a few stray sheets lying on the kitchen counter, “I’ve got a conference in San Diego in a week, and we’re planning the meeting this evening. And knowing my crew, it’ll last for several hours at the very least,”

Stiles stilled, feeling strangely hollow, “How long will you be gone?”

“I said, several hours-”

“No, for the San Diego thing,”

“Oh. Well, hopefully no more than five to ten days. You’ll take care of yourself, right kiddo?”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles mumbled, shuffling towards the doorway. He whipped out his phone and checked the date. 12th December. One week till he left, then five to ten days he was away. That’s during Christmas.

 

The Sheriff had missed Christmas before. The year Claudia died, they barely wished each other. There weren’t any presents or trees. Hell, Stiles couldn’t remember leaving his room until Melissa had pounded on the door with pudding. After that year, John tried to make an effort. It wasn’t the same without Stiles’ mom though, and sometimes the Sheriff had to leave halfway through, on an emergency call. But it wasn’t too awful. Stiles usually spent his abandoned Christmases with Scott, and last year there’d been a small pack get-together. This time round, Stiles would consider him lucky if Deaton sent a card.

“I’m heading out, dad!” Stiles called out, making his way up the stairs and into his bedroom. Out could be interpreted as “bed”, right? If not, there wasn’t much the Sheriff would do anyways. After the week Stiles had had, he deserved a fricken Nobel Peace Prize for staying sane.

 

Scott had officially shunned him. They hadn’t spoken after the argument, and something told Stiles that they weren’t going to hug it out anytime soon. Which Stiles was fine with, by the way. He didn’t need an asshole best friend buzzing in his ear, twenty-four seven. It only made lunch really awkward, because Stiles couldn’t talk to Malia, or Lydia, or Theo. And now that Scott was off limits, so was Kira. That left Liam. Who was as equivocal to Stiles as a piece of stale oak wood was to a racoon. Which wasn’t very. Stiles would have better luck obtaining a conversation with his dick. It wasn’t like Stiles was _completely_ lonered, but sometimes it felt like there wasn’t anyone there. He babbled, they listened. That was it. None of the usual banter that was there. No teasing or jokes. It was like Thanksgiving with Stiles’ grandparents.

 

Stiles flopped onto his bed with a groan, bouncing slightly onto his mattress. It was barely past noon, and Stiles had the whole Saturday ahead of him. An entire day, but a completely empty schedule. Maybe he could call up Danny, see how he was doing.

Stiles didn’t normally talk to Danny, but they’d gotten slightly closer ever since the guy found out about werewolves.  Sure, Danny was nice to everyone – and it _was_ mainly Lydia he spoke to – but Stiles felt like he could be accounted for as a friend. That didn’t necessarily mean they would talk when Stiles was having bad days, though. Danny probably had plans, being the social, gay butterfly he was.

 

“Am I just going to spend the rest of my life alone?” Stiles called out. Not that there was anyone listening to him.

 

Maybe there was. Because not a moment la **t** er, his phone buzzed in his pocket. Sitting up, Stiles dug into his pocket and pulled out his phone. The screen flashed with a message from Scott.

 

Stiles contemplated opening it. Any other time, he’d have simply ignored it. Stiles wasn’t one to bow down to ego, especially when he and Scott were pissed with each other. But a sense of loneliness filled inside of him. Stiles knew that the pack was there for him, but they would all be more likely to migrate towards their Alpha, rather than to the human of the group. Considering his options, Stiles would bet his money on Peter to be the only one who’d talk to him. And that was worst case scenario.

 

Stiles didn’t want to disrupt his relationship with Scott. Sure, the guy had been an A-grade asshole lately. A completely inconsiderate, selfish, ignorant, rapacious A-grade asshole. But that didn’t mean there was no hope left for the two, right? Scott hadn’t replaced him with Theo or anything. He was… a temporary adjustment.

 

“You’re shitting yourself,” a familiar voice said. Too familiar.

 

Peering ahead, Stiles jumped when he saw a boy standing by his wall, dressed in dirty clothes. His face looked worn and tired, yet his eyes gleamed with mischief. It took Stiles a minute to realise he was staring at the mirror propped up against his wall. A minute to realise, he was looking at his reflection in the mirror. Only the reflection wasn’t settled on his bed, he was standing up. And he didn’t have the clean, plaid shirt Stiles was currently wearing. Mirror Stiles had the same blood splattered sweatshirt that Stiles had worn when he fought Theo.

                                                                                                                                                  

“What the actual fuck?”

“What wrong?” Mirror Stiles asked, “Never seen your reflection before?”

Stiles shook his head, “I must be dreaming,” he muttered.

“You’re not dreaming Stiles,” Mirror Stiles said, “I’m just a small reality check,”

“I’ve had way too many of those recently,”

“None from me,”

“Should I even bother asking who you are?” Stiles wearily suggested, standing up and walking towards his mirror.

“You could,” Mirror Stiles shrugged, “Or you could just listen to me,”

“Why do I feel like that’s bad option?”

“Maybe because it is. But we both know you’re going to oblige, anyways. I might say that listening to would result in imminent death, and it wouldn’t make the slightest of difference to you, now would it?”

“I regret even opening my mouth in the first place,”

“That’s not the first time you’ve thought that. Your mouth has gotten you in serious trouble before, hasn’t it? And it doesn’t help that you’re constantly droning on about the wildest of shit,”

Stiles took a shaky breath, trying to calm his anger. “Shut up,”

Mirror Stiles merely ignored him, “Don’t you wish _you_ just knew how to shut up?” Mirror Stiles sneers, smirking spitefully.

Stiles looks away, clenching his jaw, “I’ve heard that from enough people,”

“I know you have. Jackson, Harris, Matt. The usual ones, right?” Mirror Stiles reprimanded, “But now there’s Malia, there’s Theo. Now there’s Scott,”

Stiles’ head snapped up, and he glared at the reflection, piercing the glass. “Scott and I have fallen out before,”

“But this isn’t a fall out. He accused you of taking drugs, Stiles. He practically said you were doing this for attention,”

“He didn’t mean it,”

“Are you sure?”

Stiles didn’t reply, only looked forward. He tried to figure out what Mirror Stiles was thinking, but his face was unreadable. Apart from the shit-eating grin plastered on his arrogant face. Damn, Stiles wanted to punch it off.

 

Mirror Stiles sighed pitifully, and glanced at a photo hung up on the wall. Stiles followed his gaze, and his eyes rested on a picture of him and Scott. It had been captured only a couple of years ago. They’d taken a trip to Beacon County Beach, and Stiles had his arm slung over Scott’s shoulder, while sticking a tongue out at the camera. The day had been clear, peaceful. Stiles was sure Allison was sunbathing somewhere in the background.

“You two were inseparable,” Mirror Stiles broke the silence, “Now what happened?”

 

 _Theo Raeken._ Theo Raeken’s what happened. Little shit waltzes in and acts like he owns the fucking place. He thinks he’s so much better than everyone, when really he’s ten times lower than the shit that lies at the bottom of the ocean.

“Then show him he’s lower, Stiles,”

“I said that out loud?” Stiles grimaced.

“No, you haven’t said anything for the past ten minutes. But I still know what you’re thinking,”

“Great. You can read minds too. Add that to the _résumé_ ,”

“I just want you to realise what your mistake is,”

“What?” Stiles faces the mirror and stares at his reflection, dead in the eye, “What mistake am I making?”

“If you want to show the richest man on earth that he’s only rich because of his money, what do you do?”

Stiles shrugs.

“You take away his money,” Mirror Stiles whispers, menace slipping through his voice.

“So if I want to show Theo that he’s no special then the rest of us…”

“You take away what makes his special,” Mirror Stiles concludes, “You take away, _his power_ ,”

“I can’t do that,”

“Obviously. Which is why we’re going to take away his new found power source,”

“Scott,” Stiles murmurs.                                                   

“You’re going to get your best friend back, Stiles. Not because you want to make up and play happy families again. You’re going to get him back so you can show Theo fucking Raeken that he can shove it. You’re going to show, that just because you’re human, doesn’t mean you don’t have power,”

 

Mirror Stiles’ eyes glint, showing a near-black contrast sunken deep into his pupils.

“Remember Stiles, the Nemeton is still here. You still withhold darkness in you. You can’t escape it. You don’t get flee from this,” he takes a breath before continuing, “But you can conquer it. You can show it how to serve you properly. You know how the saying goes, ‘If you can’t beat them, join them’,”

 

“You want me to use the darkness inside of me?” Stiles asks, disgusted, “You want me to take control of that very thing that ruined my fucking life? _You want me to ruin it all over again_!?”

 

“Calm down,” Mirror Stiles demands sternly, “I’ve had enough of your bullshit to last me a lifetime. I don’t need to screaming bloody murder in my fucking ear,”

“What do you _want_ from me, then?” Stiles hisses.

Mirror Stiles sighs once more, before turning away, “Answer the text, Stiles. And remember what I said,”

 

Stiles tears his glare away from the mirror and towards the phone, still gripped tightly in his fist. Stiles is surprised his fingers haven’t snapped off, he’s been clenching them so hard. He swipes at the screen, and the message from Scott asks him to come to Derek’s for a pack night.

 

“Am I supposed to go to this?” Stiles asks, looking up. Only now, he sees his proper reflection in the mirror, staring at him with curious eyes.

 

~~~~

 

Scott opens the door to the loft before Stiles knocks. He must’ve heard him walking up the stairs.

“Hey, Stiles,” Scott greets, sinking his hands into his pockets. Stiles glances up at him, meeting his eye.

“Hi,” Stiles says softly, biting his lip. The silence floats around them, wrapping and concealing the atmosphere with a sense of uncomfortable awkwardness. The past week, neither of them had spoken to each other directly. They’d avoided contact as much as they could.

But now Stiles was standing face to face with Scott, and all he wants to do is fist bump him and bounce in. In the past, whenever the two argued, it never lasted long. This probably broke records, and even then Stiles felt himself weakening. It was hard staying mad at Scott, especially when the guy was giving him guilty puppy eyes.

 

“I’m sorry,” “It was my fault,” they both garbled at the same time. Scott laughed, and Stiles smiled feebly.

“I’m sorry, bro,” Stiles repeated, “I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was _way_ out of line and-”

“No, no,” Scott interrupted, waving his hand dismissively, “ _I’m_ sorry. I was wrong when I brought up the whole steroids thing, and Theo shit. I should’ve been a better friend, and I wasn’t,”

Stiles is quiet for a moment, then he grins “I can’t believe you thought I was on drugs,” he chuckles quietly. Scott beams at him.

“You have to admit, you _were_ acting pretty fucking weird,”

“I always act fucking weird, man,” Stiles punches Scott lightly on the shoulder, “You should know that by now,”

Scott laughs out loud, and then pulls Stiles into a hug, clapping him on the back. “Missed you, bro,”

“Wish I could say the same,” Stiles croaks, trying to hide his joy. The relief flooding him makes it feel like everything’s okay again. He and Scott are cool, they’ll work together to figure out this shit and it’ll all go back to normal.

“But dude, seriously,” Scott pulls back, “There’s someone else who wants to say sorry,”

Scott walks into the door way and Stiles follows. Standing by the window is Theo, who gives a small wave.

“Hey,”

Stiles freezes in his step, eyes widening at the sights of Theo. This was _not_ what he expected.

“Uh, Theo,” Stiles stammers, “Hey,”

“I just wanted to apologise for saying all that stuff about your Jeep,” Theo rubs the back of his neck, “I didn’t really know about your mom or anything, and it was kinda a dick move,”

Stiles raises his eyebrow, still trying to reciprocate what Theo’s saying.

“I feel like we got off on the wrong foot, and I hope we can start again,”

Scott turns to Stiles and nods eagerly. Of course.

 

This is why Theo wants to make up. Not for Stiles, or the pack, but for Scott. Theo probably knows that Stiles and Scott are a package deal, and an AWOL Stiles means a fucked up Scott.

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles mumbles. He looks and sees Scott frowning, gesturing his head towards Theo. Damn, Scott wants a two-way apology, doesn’t he?

“Um, I’m sorry too,” Stiles stutters, gulping, “I shouldn’t have, uh, hurt you,”

Theo grins, “Great! I really want to try and fit in with the pack. Having an enemy with the right-hand man isn’t exactly a good way to start,”

 

Stiles gives a week sound of agreement, peering around the room. It’s empty apart from the three of them.

“Where’s everyone else?” Stiles asks, walking to the kitchen. The lights are off, and it doesn’t feel like anyone’s been inside for a while,

“No one’s coming,” Scott says. Stiles looks at him, and is surprised to see his cheeks growing red, and a sheepish smile on his face, “I didn’t think you’d come over unless I said it was about the pack,”

 

“Oh,”

“But we’re going to go and catch a movie,” Scott pipes, “You can join us,”

Theo nods, but doesn’t look too pleased, “We can discuss improving the pack stability on our way there,”

Stiles quickly declines the offer. There’s no fucking way in Hell he’s going to third wheel on a date with Scott and Theo. Besides, what the fuck does the guy mean by _improving pack stability_? Excuse me, but so far this pack has been pretty damn stable. It only wobbles when ignorant assholes show up and start to mess with _customs_.

“Thanks, but I can’t,”

“Why not?” Scott asks disappointedly.

“My dad needs me to help with dinner,” Stiles lies, “I told him that I’d only be away for an hour, and I don’t want to keep him waiting,”

 

Stiles hates lying to Scott. Even more so when it’s for such a shitty reason. But there’s only one thing he hates more than lying to his best friend. And that thing is Theo.

So before Scott can give him a puppy dog guilt trip, Stiles flies out of the loft. And if he listens closely, he can hear Mirror Stiles laughing at his idiocy.

 

~~~~

 

“Chemistry was different in Brazil,” Melaena’s hands stay steady while she pours different acids into beakers, “We learnt about metals and stuff, but we never made any potions,”

Stiles huffs a laugh, “These aren’t potions- You know what? They are potions,”

Melaena giggles, “I do not know what to call them,”

“Well, I call them reactions,” Stiles explains, handing her a stand. She moves with such efficiency, Stiles was quite surprised when she told him that her school didn’t have enough funds to purchase chemicals. Everything about Melaena seemed to surprise Stiles, and he couldn’t figure out why. After the whole dead school girl fiasco, Melaena had returned to school looking forlorn. Stiles hadn’t yet worked up the courage to ask her about it.

Though she seemed relaxed right now, and if he ever wanted to talk to her a little more personally, now was a better time than never.

 

“Hey, Melaena,”

Melaena glanced up from the Bunsen, “Yes?”

“How you been?”

Melaena frowns, lips puckering. Stiles couldn’t help squirming with affection. She was too damn cute.

“Huh?”

“Um, how have you been dealing with the murder? You know, the one where people found a girl from this school pinned up to the lockers by nails, with her head cut off and covered in blood,”

“Oh, yes. I know what you mean,” Melaena’s eyes dart away from Stiles and she bites her lip, “I, I do not know,”

“Are you okay?”

Melaena presses her mouth in a tight line, before sighing, “I am feeling a little scared. Lots of other boys and girls went missing too, no?”

“Yeah, they did,”

“Well, one of them was my new beastie,” Melaena says sadly, tipping her head up and showing Stiles big brown, sorrowful eyes. “I just hope she is okay,”

“She’ll be fine,” Stiles promised, “This kind of stuff happens in Beacon Hills all the time. And people always end up fine. They rarely die,”

“Do you anyone who’s died?”

Stiles stills and sucks in a breath His chest aches uncomfortably, and he has to look away.

 

It’s no secret that Stiles has known lots of people who’ve died. It’s not the most pleasant thought to think about. So many died young, so many went unappreciated. Allison’s death is a constant guilt flooding over Stiles, but there were so many more. Aiden, Erica, Boyd. Lord knows where Isaac and Jackson are. Cora doesn’t keep in touch often. And it’s all Stiles can do not to burst into tears remembering them. Remembering their bravery, their development. How much each one of them went through, and how they kept on fighting till the last second. He never wants to forget them.

 

“Stiles?”

Stiles looks up, and Melaena’s watching him with a worried expression.

“Sorry, I uh, yeah. I have known a few people to die. And they were very important to me. But I know that they’re at peace now, and that’s all that matters,”

Melaena smiles at him, “I am glad. No one should suffer,” She turns around and begins to work on the experiment again. Stiles takes a minute to try and slow his heart rate down. He takes a few deep breaths, and focuses on his breathing. After a while, he feels his head cool and grows steady again. He peers at the work top, where Melaena is carefully examining the beaker.

 

“I think it’s working,” Melaena observes, when the blue liquid bubbles and turns green. Stiles watches in awe. Mainly because Melaena hadn’t glanced at the instructions once. And because the chemicals on their worktop were entirely different from everyone else’s.

“How did you do that?” Stiles asks, trying not to gape. Melaena looks up and smiles.

“I do not know. I just added the rocks, and the blue water. Then I put it on the-”

“Yeah yeah, okay. I got it, you’re a witch,”

Melaena’s head snaps up, and her eyes grow wide, “What?! No I’m not!”

Stiles blinks, slightly taken aback, “Whoa, alright, it’s cool. You’re not a witch,” He takes a tentative step back, significantly raising his hands in the air. “You’re a princess, remember?” Stiles gives a small smile, which (to his relief) Melaena returns, graciously.

“Sorry, you caught me off my guards. Is that how you say it? I did not mean to scream at you,”

“That wasn’t screaming,” Stiles chuckles, “If you want to hear someone scream, you spill Cool Aid over Lydia Martin’s dress and watch her-”

 

“Watch her what?”

 

Stiles yelps and jumps around, meeting Lydia’s pursed pout.

“Talking about me, Stilinski?”

Stiles stutters, desperately searching for words. Lydia won’t _actually_ decapitate him, but he’s not risking it. Thankfully, Melaena rushes to his rescue with an explanation.

“We were just saying why I was not a witch and how Stiles was silly when he drinks his cold aid,” she pips up, leaning over the desk and flashing a grin.

Hmm, maybe not.

Lydia raises an eyebrow, unimpressed, “Cold aid?”

“Cool Aid,” Stiles mutters, rubbing his forehead. “She means Cool Aid,”

“I know what she means, Stiles,” Lydia rolls her eyes before stretching out a hand, “Lydia Martin,” she greets, smiling at Melaena.

Melaena beams back at her, before shaking enthusiastically, “I am Melaena! It is very pleasing to meet you,”

“Oh I know who you are,” Lydia assured, “Stiles doesn’t shut up about you. I’ve spent the past few lunches listening about your hair, or your eyes, or your smile. He even mentioned that your boobs-,”

“ _Thank you Lydia_!” Stiles exclaims, ushering her onwards. “I’m sure Danny needs you to helpfully contribute to his conversations and more or less ruin his social life,”

Lydia laughs, “Stiles, if it weren’t for me, I doubt very much you would _have_ a social life to ruin. But that wasn’t my main mission. I got a text from Kira telling us to meet her in the library,”

 

Lydia lowers her voice and moves slightly closer to Stiles, “I’m guessing it’s ‘angel’ related,”

Stiles nods, “Go, and I’ll meet you there,”

Lydia briskly walks away, and Stiles hurridly fumbles back to the desk, where Melaena is avidly scanning over notes.

“I think I need to go and talk to my friend for a while. Do you mind watching the experiment?”

Stiles doesn’t feel the need to lie to Melaena, or even make up a half assed excuse. It’s like she knows the urgency of his situation before he even needs to say anything.

Melaena smiles in assurance, “You can go. I’ll just tell the teacher you had to pee,”

“Much appreciated,” Stiles thanks, before darting out the room.

 

He pulls his phone out of his pocket, and of course, is a message from Kira telling him to get his cute butt to the library pronto.

“And it _has_ to be in the middle of class, doesn’t it?” Stiles mutters to himself, while texting back.

 

**Stiles: On my way**

 

Stiles bristles down the corridor, and is about to take the turn leading to the library when a crash from the other end of the hall grasps his attention. He freezes in his step and whips round.

For a moment, it’s silent. Then a yell and the squeak of trainers running interrupt it. Before Stiles can move, Liam bursts from a door, panting and sweating.

 

“RUN!” he yells, and Stiles notices blood dripping from the side of his head.

 And behind him emerges the white angel that Stiles knows only so well. He can clearly see a face now. Pale, plain and haunting. The alluring sense that was once there is now gone. Stiles can only feel fear creeping up on him.

 

“Shit,” he says, and sprints to the opposite end.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos and comments welcome
> 
> Ehehehehehe
> 
> Watermelon :•}


	12. Let your soldiers fight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fear is strange. It’s taunting and teasing, gives you curious urges. It beckons you forward, and just as you reach out to hold it, it grabs you and refuses to let go. Fear cannot be tamed or mastered. It doesn’t have a partner, or even a student. Fear only has an audience, on which it will unleash every ounce of torture and desperation that it dominates. Yet you don’t’ want to leave it. Because as much as it keeps you prisoner, it gives you a sense of reality.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHA! Another chapter (I'm spoiling you little monkeys, aren't I?)
> 
> Okay, so VERY mild descriptions of violence in this chapter, and it's like, after the starting intro part. So skip that if it's not your cup of tea. Or coffee. Or whatever, idk, maybe some of y'all don't even like drinks. You little sneak freaks like "drinks".
> 
> Other than that, enjoy this rather long chapter, and please feel free to use kudos and comments!

 

The last time Stiles remembers running this much was when he and Malia came across a group of Wood Nymphs in the preserve and had to climb a tree to get away from them. Malia had originally tried to claw one of their throats out, but after she nearly lost a hand, they recommenced on finding high ground. Scott had to save them with a barrel of Mountain Ash and lighter fluid.

 

Stiles could hear his heart pounding in his chest as he made his way down the corridors and past classrooms. Liam soon caught up with him, his eyes wide with fear. His hair was stuck to sides of his face with sweat, and Stiles could only imagine how long he’d been running. Every grated breath the boy took, Stiles grew more sympathetic. He could practically see the terror oozing off of Liam.

 

Fear is strange. It’s taunting and teasing, gives you curious urges. It beckons you forward, and just as you reach out to hold it, it grabs you and refuses to let go. Fear cannot be tamed or mastered. It doesn’t have a partner, or even a student. Fear only has an audience, on which it will unleash every ounce of torture and desperation that it dominates. Yet you don’t’ want to leave it. Because as much as it keeps you prisoner, it gives you a sense of reality.

Stiles has experienced too much fear for a boy his age. Whether it is a physical fear, such as now. A fear of being chased, or being caught. A fear of the unknown. Not having the slightest idea of your fate, if and when the monster catches you. Stiles has also feared isolation. Fearing of how his life would work without Scott. What would happen if Scott disowned him? If there wasn’t anyone in the pack who wanted him? Stiles fears these things constantly. But more deeply than any of those, Stiles fears possession.

 

The Nogitsune was anything but merciful. It played with the darkness that was savagely surrounding Stiles, it drank up all of the dread Stiles held and used it to feed his reign. Stiles was not Stiles. He was Nogitsune, inside and out. Yet still he had no control. No control over his body or his mind. He was somehow powerless, because he had been away from himself. He was possessed.

That scared Stiles more than everything else put together.

And he still hadn’t escaped. You can’t escape memories, you can’t escape dreams. You cannot free yourself of the constant reminders that lay aimlessly on your doorstep. You cannot flee from gravestones that hold the lost souls and bodies. You simply cannot escape from reality. You cannot escape from fear.

Maybe that’s why Stiles kept running. Maybe that’s why he yelled at Liam to keep up. Why he didn’t look back. Because if you can’t escape fear, you overrule it.

 

“Liam, call Scott!” Stiles ordered over his shoulder, “Tell him to meet us in the lacrosse field!”

“It’ll have people on it!” Liam yelled back, but Stiles saw from his peripheral Liam pulling out his phone.

“Coach doesn’t take any classes on Thursday afternoons!” Stiles pumped his legs harder, seeing the door to the locker room wide open.

“I’m not even going to ask how you know that!”

An animalistic screech came from behind them, and Stiles knew the angel was closing in.

“FASTER!” Stiles urged, diving into the locker room, and skirting around benches, “We can corner it on the field,”

 

Stiles saw the door to the field, closed but fortunately unlocked. He was close, just a few more meters and then-

Kira leaped out in front of him, katana wielded and ready in hand. She spun out the way just before Stiles collided with her, slashing her katana in the air. Stiles stumbled over his feet and practically flew across the stairs and onto the grass with a very manly yelp.

 

“ _Fuck_!” he groaned, faced buried into the ground. He pushed himself up with his hands, hearing a warrior cry from behind him. He turned his head, watching Kira jump onto the top of coach’s desk and brace her katana. It sliced through the air, and Stiles waited for it to cut the neck off the angel. At the last moment, the white beast dived out the way, and used a single push to send Kira sprawling onto the lockers.

 

“Stiles, get up,”

A hand was offered upon his face, and Stiles peered up to see Malia standing boldly, fangs bared. He pulled himself up, and dusted his jeans. They positioned themselves facing the door, watching Kira scramble up and run towards them. The woman appeared only moments later, hissing through pale lips.

“What is that thing?” Malia asked, extending her claws.

“The angel that attacked me,” Stiles answered, looking around “Where’s Liam?”

“I’m here,” he piped suddenly, skirting to a stop, “I’m pretty surprised I made it out alive. It was about to rip my head off when Kira came,”

“How do you know?” Malia countered to him.

“Because I saw it grab his throat,” Kira says, tumbling into line with them. She wiped her lip with her thumb, frowning when blood followed her thumb. “That thing’s dangerous,”

“Yeah, no shit,” Malia muttered, “What do we do?”

 

Stiles looked up ahead, where the angel had continued to trash the locker room, looking for God knows what. Its arms were thin, but it must’ve had great amounts of strength to throw a bench over its shoulder like it was discarding a packet of chips. Now though, Stiles could have a proper look at the creature.

Calculating its overall appearance, Stiles was going to go ahead and label this thing female (judging books by their covers was something he frowned upon, but quite frankly, Stiles decided to worry about labelling the gender and sex another time. You know, one where his life wasn’t at stake) Framing her head was wiry thing hair, standing out like the bristles of a frayed tooth brush. Her face was long and pale, hollowed cheeks and sunken eyes. Lips so bloodless that it was hard to see them at all. But her eyes were what sent ghoulish shivers down Stiles’ spine. They were what you would call vantablack, so dark that Stiles couldn’t make out how far deep they went. It was like millions of souls had been swallowed up and lost any meaning. There was no life in those eyes, only darkness. Only revulsion and anger and something so impeding that Stiles couldn’t imaging the depth her hatred sunk to.  

The rest of her body was, once again, fully covered by long, ripped threads. It was a mix between a nightgown and a 1970’s wedding dress. It had lost its colour, and was now a sickly creamy yellow. The ends were frayed, and no feet or shoes were seen beyond the tips. Thin wrists peeked out from the sleeves, and Stiles was sure a newborn kitten wouldn’t have much trouble snapping them. Spidery fingers reached out towards him, nails longer than any werewolves’ he’d seen.

 

“That’s some creepy looking angel, Stiles,” Liam called out, ignoring the glare Stiles heatedly shot him, “It’s more like a Jadis,”

Stiles flipped him off.

“Do we know where Lydia is?” Malia asked.

Stiles suddenly remembered, “She only left a few minutes before I did,”

“I told Lydia to call Parrish,” Liam answered, “She should’ve left the school by now,”

“Guys, it’s looking pissed,” Malia warned, and Stiles turned to the angel. She was snarling around the room, showing rows of razor sharp teeth.

“Does it know we’re here?” Kira pondered, “Because I think it’s looking for something,”

“Or some _one_ ,” Malia said.

“Everyone’s outside,” Liam grunted.

“Not everyone,” Stiles murmured, watching the angel claw at the floor manically, “Not Scott,”

 

A deafening roar sounded from inside, and beyond the lockers, a pair of red eyes shone challengingly.

“Speak of the Devil,”

 

Scott pounced onto the angel, who was only taken aback for a split second, before throwing Scott off, like he weighed next to nothing. He flew into the showers, and quickly shook himself before running at her again, claws extended this time. They sunk deep into the angel’s neck, who screeched in fury before yanking Scott off and raking her own demonic nails into his chest. Stiles winced when Scott howled in pain, causing the ground to shake.

 

“Why can’t anyone hear this?!” Malia yelled over the roar, covering her ears.

“I don’t know!” Stiles called back, “Maybe it has some kind of sound proofing system,”

“Sound proofed or not, I won’t let Scott handle that monster alone,” Kira declared, “I’m helping him!” She twirled her katana through her fingers like it was a baton, and took off sprinting. She barely made it a few steps before Malia yanked her back.

“Are you crazy?!” she hissed, “You go within ten feet of that thing and you’ll probably get killed alive!”

“I don’t think you can get killed _dead_ ,” Kira pointed out, “Because you need to be living to get…” she tailed off when Malia growled lowly.

“Missing the point, Kira,” Stiles added, “And Malia’s right. I doubt you’d make it out without having your head severed,”

“Someone needs to help Scott!” Kira snapped. Which was a first. Stiles had rarely seen Kira annoyed, and she’d never snapped at him before. It probably just showed how devoted she was to him.

 

“I think he’s got some help,” Liam called out, pointing ahead. The angel was struggling with Scott latched to her back, but she now had Theo grabbing her by the neck and slamming her into the wall. The two leaped onto it, punching and scratching for all they were worth. Unfortunately, Stiles couldn’t see them leaving any visible marks on her pale skin, and it didn’t take too long for her to push Scott off her back and practically bowl him into Theo. Stiles smirked at the sight of the two of them draped over each other, a pile of twisted limbs and groans.

“You’d better wipe that smug grin off your face quickly Stilinski or I swear to God I will pound you _so hard.._!” Malia warned, clenching her teeth.

“I don’t think pounding _anyone_ ,” Kira interrupted desperately, “Will solve anything,”

 

“We need to help them,” Liam stated, “If all of us go, we have a chance at beating it!”

Kira nodded, triumphant, “I told you so,”

Malia groaned, before shaking her hair out of her face, “Alright, we run in there and give it all we’ve got. Kira, you get as many stabs to chest as you can,” she ordered, “Liam, aim for the neck. That’s what you do when you’re going for the kill. Stiles,” Malia stopped mid demand, staring at him, opening and closing her mouth like a fish. She swallowed and cringed, “Try to stay out of the way,”

Stiles went rigid, processing the command and cueing the spastic flailing, “ _What?_!” he spat, “Stay _out of the way_?! Are you fucking joking!?”

“No,” Malia sighed, “If I was joking I would have said _ha-ha_ at the end,”

“How have you never met Jackson?” Stiles queried, rubbing his forehead.

“Who’s Jackson?” all three asked simultaneously.

“Never mind,” Stiles muttered. He watched silently while Malia gave out more instructions, directing them to certain points. He didn’t say anything when they all ran off. He didn’t even move when the angel screeched at the sight of more opponents. He was motionless on the outside, but on the inside he was screaming.

 

This was _exactly_ what had happened his entire life. This is how every single scenario had been scripted, acted out, and produced. Nothing changed. It had always been, “Stiles, stay out of the way,” and it would always remain “Stiles, stay out of the way,”

People had forever made shit excuses like “Oh, we don’t want you to get hurt,” “You could seriously cause damage that we don’t know how to fix,” “You’re not supernatural, Stiles. You’re only human,”

All of those translated into “You’re going to fuck this up for us and we can’t have that,”

Did anyone _teach_ him how to fight? Did they train him in any way; show him how to use a rifle or a knife? Sure, his dad had explained how to shoot a basic hand gun when he was thirteen, but it wasn’t like Stiles could waltz around with it in his pocket. Come on, he was _almost_ eighteen. And he was _more_ than responsible to be in possession of one. But apparently the law didn’t agree with the amazing standard of Stiles’ maturity, because if it did, Stiles might be a little use in these kinds of situations and wouldn’t get a “Stiles, stay out of the way,”

                                                                                     

“IF I ALWAYS STAY OUT OF THE WAY I’M AS USEFUL AS A SACK OF FUCKING POTAOES!” Stiles yelled to himself, showing the first signs of movement in a good five minutes. “No, think positive,” He reminded, “If you were there then they wouldn’t be beating the crap out of that thing, right? Fuck, they _are_ beating the crap out of that thing, right?”

He glanced towards the school, hoping to see the pack _devouring_ the angel, showing no mercy and kicking its ass.

Stiles could not have been more _wrong_.

Liam was lying on top of one of the lockers, eyes closed and arms swaying slightly. Kira was crouched by the door, holding her arm and crying out in pain. Stiles saw Scott soar through the air and tumble into the already broken desk, his leg bent back at an unnatural angel. Malia and Theo slashed at the angel, but to no prevail. Stiles was pretty sure it sneered at their attempts to wound it, and with one swing of a bony elbow, she kit Malia in the throat, causing her to fall into Kira’s huddle. They were losing, miserably. Maybe if there was just _one more_ wolf in the battle, they could have a slight advantage.

 

Stiles scrunched his eyes and tried to telepathically communicate with Derek. _Use your spark, use your spark._

_“Derek, if you can hear me, I need your help. We’re at the school at we’re in trouble. Please, Derek. Please, please, please...”_

 

“Stiles!”

Stiles’ eyes burst open. Holy shit that really worked! And it was fast too. He scoured the field, searching for the brooding werewolf.

Hmm, no Derek, but a certain woodland princess was making her way over to him from the parking lot. She was waving, looking concerned. Now why was there a princess in the middle of a…

“ _Melaena!”_ Stiles yelled, “What the fuck are you doing?!”

“You have missed the whole period,” Melaena jogged up to him and flashed an anxious smile, “I got worried. The teacher told me to go look for you, and I did. You weren’t in the library like you were supposed to be, so after checking the lunch hall, I check the locker room. But it is locked. So I go to the car stop and walk to the sports park and I see you!”

“Melaena, this is bad! You can’t be here, it’s too dangerous!”

“What is?” Melaena asked, turning around. Stiles quickly grabbed her shoulders and twisted her away from the school. He wanted to make sure she saw _none_ of what was going on. Melaena frowned at the roughness, squirming a little. “Stiles, you are hurting me! What is too dangerous?!”

“Melaena, I wish I could tell you but I…” Stiles tailed off when a thought struck him. He snapped his head back to Melaena, searching her face. “Melaena, how did you know I was meant to be in the library?”

“Huh?”

“I just said my friend needed to see me. I never said _anything_ about a library,”

For a split second Stiles was sure he saw her eyes flash with panic, before she glared hard at him, “Stop the changing subjects!” Melaena burst out, “You are lying to me Stiles, and I want to know why!”

She shrugged herself out of his firm grip, and turned around to see the locker room now in full chaos. There was scarlet splattered decoratively on the walls, benches and doors splayed out randomly on the floor, and a fiery white angel fighting off four werewolves and a kitsune.

Stiles watched in horror as shock settled over Melaena’s face, before she let out “the end of the world” scream. It ran Stiles’ blood cold, and probably killed a bird somewhere in the woods.

Well, if she was trying to catch the attention of a certain serial killing creature with multiple life threatening features, she certainly did.

The angel spun around to face Melaena, and with a roar unlike any roar Stiles had ever heard before, it surged towards the pair. Her hair flew around wildly, like it had a life of its own, and her black eyes were narrowed in what Stiles could only deter as spite. It was terrifying seeing something so furious, so demented.

Stiles braced for the impact of imminent death, when Melaena shoved him out the way. He fell to the floor, and watched with wide eyes as she rolled up her sleeves and shook her shoulders.

“Melaena, what are you…?”

She hummed a few words under her breath, inhaling and exhaling as she clasped her hands above her head and leaned forward. Her arms formed a poised arch above her head, the mantra never stopping from her lips. She entwined her fingers, and Stiles gasped when he saw a small, dark flame form from the edge of her fingers. It curled around her skin, licking its way around her bones. The words became louder, and were soon accompanied by the screech of the angel. The monster was only roughly fifteen feet away, and its eyes caught Stiles’. If there was any emotion in them, Stiles saw recognition. He saw something baleful, something vengeful, and something that he wished he would learn to forget but realized that it would stay firmly planted in his mind forever. Because if not anything else, this angel knew who Stiles was. And when it saw him shrink back slightly in terror, its ominous smile grew sinister, and it soared forward faster.

 

“Melaena!” Stiles called, but it fell to deaf ears. Melaena raised her arms higher, the closer the angle got. And just as Stiles was sure it would destroy them both, Melaena let out a yell and thrust her hands forward. The dark flames curled around her head, like a crown, and then they travelled through the air and laced onto the face of the angel. The fire must’ve done something to the insides of her, because she was tossed to the ground like a ragdoll. Just as her body made contact with the grass, a blinding light poured out from the angel’s body, shining rays all over the pitch. Stiles had to cover his arm over his face, shielding his eyes from the brightness. As they light slowly diminished, he lowered his arm and peered from above the crook of his elbow.

 

He turned to where the angel had fallen. Only now, instead of a spindly, white body, lay a pile of grey ash.

He gawked, before looking at Melaena, who was swaying drowsily on the spot.

“Mel, you okay?” Stiles asked, shakily getting to his feet. The world spun for a moment, and Stiles’ vision went slightly blurred before focusing back on the gorgeous woodland princess who was looking dazed. She nodded at Stiles’ question, smiled, and then her knees must’ve given out because she collapsed.

Thankfully, Stiles was there to catch her when she did.

 

~~~~

 

Stiles gripped Melaena’s hand tightly, almost afraid to let go. Her eyes were closed, and her rosebud lips were slightly parted, forming the shape of a heart. Her breathing was steady, and whenever she exhaled, Stiles got a whiff of what smelt like sugar and cinnamon.

Yeah, okay, it _was_ a little creepy smelling a sleeping girl’s breath, but no one was there to judge. Apart from Deaton.

 

“Mr. Stilinski, I cannot stress enough how much I advise you to go home,” Deaton walked over to where Stiles was sitting, “Melaena will be alright. I promise to notify you the very second she wakes up,”

Stiles had been waiting for Melaena to wake up for several hours now. Ever since she passed out on the lacrosse field, Stiles hadn’t left her side once. Scott told him to take her to Deaton, and that the rest of the pack would help with the “explaining” of the attack.

“I’m not leaving,” Stiles muttered, “Not until I know she’s okay,” he turned to Deaton, “Until I hear it from her own mouth,”

“I don’t know how long Melaena will be asleep,” Deaton went on, “Her body was entirely drained out. She seemed completely exhausted and if maybe I knew why, I could help her wake up sooner,” Deaton reached out and pulled Stiles’ chair to face him, “Stiles, I need you to tell me everything you saw,”

 

“I already _told_ you,” Stiles gritted out, “I got a text from Kira, I went to the library and saw the angel chasing Liam. We went to the locker room where we met Kira and Malia, then Scott and Theo. All of them tried to fight it off, but nothing happened. They barely scratched it. Then Melaena came along, it saw her, she let out some kind of fire force-field thing and burned it. Like, a minute later she passed out,”

Deaton stared at Stiles calculatingly, like he was waiting for something more.

“What?” Stiles shifted in his seat, uncomfortable with all the silent eye judging.

“There’s something you’re not telling me Stiles,”

“I, I’ve told you everything,” Stiles stammered, “There’s nothing more to say,”

Deaton simply cocked his head to the side, and raised a questioning eyebrow. Stiles had to look away, the man’s gaze becoming a little too intense for him.

“Stiles,”

“Okay okay!” Stiles broke, “I’ll tell you, I’ll tell you,”

“We could’ve reached this stage twenty minutes ago,” Deaton stated calmly, reaching for his back pocket and taking out a notebook, “Please begin anytime soon,”

Stiles gulped, keeping his head down, “I, I think I know why the angel was chasing us,”

“Why?”

“B-because she was looking for something,” Stiles drew his head up, feeling much smaller than he actually was, “Looking for _me_ ,”

 

Deaton sat silently for a minute, before nodding and walking over to the sink.

“And how have your dreams been, Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles frowned, “My dreams? What has that got to do with anything?”

“I simply want to know if the pills I subscribed have been working,”

“Well, yeah,” Stiles shrugged, “I haven’t had any nightmares lately,”

“And did you use to receive nightmares often?” Deaton opened a cupboard and took out a bag full of yellow pills marked “ **Dangerous** ” on the front.

“All the fricken time,” Stiles scoffed bitterly, “I didn’t have the most ‘reliable’ sleep schedule,”

“No more hallucinations or, past memories, per say?”

“Nothing,” Stiles pretended to dust his hands clean, “All gone,”

 

Deaton faced stiles, with a much more serious look on his face.

“Stiles,” he started, which Stiles should’ve known was a bad omen. Deaton only used Stiles when shit was going down, “I think I know what’s going on,”

“You do?” Stiles asked eagerly, “What? What is it?”

“I don’t think it’s as fortunate as you may predict,”

“Doesn’t matter! Any news is good news,” Stiles exclaimed, jittering about.

“Not in this case,”

 

Deaton walked over and pulled a chair out.

“Stiles, please remember that I am not one hundred percent sure on how true this is,” Deaton resounded, sitting down, “But I think some sort of supernatural witch is feeding off of your darkness,”

“What?”

Deaton sighed, “There are many creatures who feed off one’s energy, or life span. Some even absorb carbon dioxide created from their body. In this case, I think a witch is using the darkness you have within you to feed her,”

“She’s eating my darkness?” Stiles drawled out.

“To some extent, yes,”

“Well, isn’t that a good thing?” Stiles offered, raising his hands in the air, “If she eats it, then it goes away,”

“Yes, but there’s more to it than that,”

“I’m itching to find out,” Stiles uttered sarcastically, trying to hide his worry. Deaton didn’t look too good, like he was about to tell someone he fed their pet guinea pig to Chewbacca.

“This witch is going to now view you as her main energy source. She will see you as breakfast, lunch and dinner. Anyone near to you is a risk to her. They could be taking your darkness, and I’ll bet my hat that she doesn’t like sharing,”

Deaton rubbed wearily at his face before continuing, “You have only a limited amount of darkness in you. You have only so much that you can give. It may be a lot, but it will eventually run out. When it runs out, she has nothing to fuel herself with. She’s latched onto you, and it won’t be so easy for her to leave. She’ll start eating away at you yourself. She’ll be taking your life slowly but surely,”

Stiles shuddered, picturing a bony hand reaching into him and pulling out his heart, eating away at it like a rabid animal.

“But she’s dead now, right?” Stiles asked.

“I don’t know,” Deaton confessed, “I don’t think it’s that easy to kill them off. There are many sorts of witches who are involved in this kind of feeding. You said on that first night you felt enchanted, right?”

“Uh hu,”

“Well then, it could possibly be an enchantress who’s obsessed with you. Any new girls catching your eye lately?”

Stiles turned to Melaena’s sleeping body, feeling his stomach churn.

“Only one...” he tailed off, watching the gentle rise and fall of her chest.

Deaton followed Stiles’ gaze over to her, and he shook his head.

“Mr. Stilinski, I doubt very much that it’s your friend who’s eating you,”

“Please don’t say that, it’s too creepy,” Stiles groaned, closing his eyes. He heard Deaton let out a soft chuckle.

“Don’t worry, Mr. Stilinski,” Deaton placed a comforting hand on Stiles’ shoulder, “I’m sure everything will fall into place soon. If your nightmares return, then we know that something has changed,”

“So I _want_ them to come back to me?” Stiles asked, opening his eyes and frowning.

Deaton laughed again, “You should just carry on, normally. Answers will soon appear and we’ll kick ourselves for not realising them soon enough. Go home,” Deaton advised, “Get some rest. I’ll inform you if I see any progress from Melaena. For now, you should take it easy,”

 

“I doubt I’ll be able to sleep tonight,” Stiles muttered, “I’ll most likely spend it driving around in my Jeep, wasting gas,”

“Well if you’re driving around, take these to Derek’s loft,” Deaton tossed the packet of yellow pills over to Stiles, “They’re for Peter,”

“What are they?” Stiles asked, intently examining the bag.

“They stop any supernatural shifting. Derek wanted to keep Peter out of trouble, so he asked for these. They’re extremely effective,” Deaton marvelled, “Made with a strong type of wolfsbane. If Peter takes these once a month, he’ll never even remember he had powers in the first place.

“Once a month?” Stiles gawked, “But there are, like, forty pills in here!”

“Derek wants to keep Peter at bay for as long as possible,”

“He wants to keep Peter human for four fucking years!?”

“It does seem that way, yes,”

 

Stiles couldn’t help sniggering at the thought of Peter helpless and miserable.

“So, these are like, werewolf contraceptives, right?”

“If you want to view them in that particular perspective,”

“Alright, Doc,” Stiles hopped down from the seat and walked to the entrance, “Thanks for everything,”

“My pleasure,” Deaton acknowledged.

 

Stiles was almost out the door when Deaton called out.

“Oh, and Mr. Stilinski?”

Stiles turned around, “Yeah?”

“Try to stay out of trouble,”

 

~~~~

 

Stiles was only slightly surprised to see a hung over Peter when he knocked on the door to Derek’s loft. Well, as hung over as Peter could get. His skin looked sickly, and his hair was drenched with sweat and plastered to his forehead. He scowled at Stiles when he grinned, waggling his fingers.

“Het Pete!” Stiles greeted, bounding into the loft, noticing a discarding pile of what looked like dark seating cushions, “What’s shaking’?”

Peter gave a low growl, “Never call me, _Pete_ ,” he spat, “ _Ever_ again,”

“Okay, okay!” Stiles held his hands up in surrender, “I got you Bruce Banner, calm down,”

“Peter’s nothing like Bruce Banner,”

Stiles glanced up to see Derek making his way down the stairs, “He’s a Loki if I ever saw one,”

Stiles chuckled, “He’s got the ass, wait, no! Sass, I meant to say sass,” Stiles turned to Peter, “Because you’re always doing the finger thing, and you love Oprah…”

“SHUT UP!” Peter yelled, slamming his fist into the wall. Derek almost immediately growled at him, eyes flashing blue.

“Watch yourself, Peter,” Derek warned, “I can have you sent back to Eichen with the press of a button,”

“Eichen would be better than this!” Peter declared, pulling his hand out of the crumbling plastered, “I haven’t had sex in three months! Do you know how unnatural that is for me?”

“What about those six years of being in a coma?” Stiles asked.

Peter smirked, “What do you think my nurse did for me?”

Stiles gagged before shuddering, “Gross,”

 

Derek walked over to Stiles, taking the bag out of his hands, “Deaton give you these?”

“Uh hu, they’re for Peter,”

“What’s for me?” Peter demanded, storming over. He reached out for the bag, but Derek simply pushed him afield with his hand. He didn’t even look away from packet.

“They’re your pills,” Derek muttered, scanning the illegible lines of writing.

“I don’t need pills,” Peter huffed, crossing his arms over his chest, “I need a new nephew,”

“Well I’m all you’ve got, so suck it up,”

 

Stiles snickered again, “I can’t believe Derek’s making you go to werewolf rehab,”

Peter shot a death glare to Stiles, “There’s no such thing as werewolf rehab,”

“Oh yes there is,” Derek confirmed, putting the packet down and stretching out a hand, “Welcome to werewolf rehab. Enjoy your stay,”

“Refreshments will be provided soon enough,” Stiles added cheekily, “Please remain under the possession of no food or drink when in the bedrooms,”

Peter probably hand steam coming out of his ears, he looked so pissed. Stiles couldn’t help laughing like a freaking maniac.

“Fuck you,” Peter snarled, turning on his foot and stomping out of the loft. The door slammed behind him, and Stiles laughter fell short. The thump of footsteps could be heard going up a flight of stairs, and then a furious yell of sorts. Stiles pressed his lips together and caught Derek’s eye, who just shrugged in an ‘ _oh well’_ sort of fashion. Stiles let out a few more giggles ( _manly_ giggles, thank you very much) before noticing the awkward silence forming. Derek didn’t seem to mind, but Stiles wasn’t once for keeping quiet for long. He rocked back on his heels, humming while peering around the room.

 

“I’ll need to go and find a hiding place for these,” Derek lifted up the bag, “If Peter finds them he’ll probably feed the lot to a pigeon or something,”

“Yeah, sure,” Stiles waved Derek off, who walked towards the kitchen. “Hey, I thought Peter wasn’t allowed outside and shit,” Stiles pondered out loud, taking in a couple of picture frames on the wall.

“Oh, he’s not,” Derek called back, “But the loft has a rooftop and I allow Peter to go up there and let off any steam if he needs to,”

“What if he jumps?”

“The building’s over a hundred feet, Stiles. Supernatural healing or not, you’re still going to break your neck,”

“Ouch,”

“Ouch indeed,” Derek agreed, walking out.

 

“I didn’t know you were redecorating,”

“Redecorating?” Derek asked.

“The photo frames?” Stiles pointed to the pictures hung on the wall.

“Oh, yeah. Braeden told me to maybe add some pictures of my family and stuff,”

“To remember them?”

“No, she says that it’ll help me forgive myself if I see how happy they are,”

Stiles frowned, “That doesn’t make any sense,”

“It didn’t to me either,” Derek shrugged, “But she knows a bunch of psychology shit, and it actually makes me feel better. We have all these talks about the past, and honestly, they help _a lot_ ,”

“You guys are really close, huh?” Stiles notes quietly.

“I feel like she’s the most wholesome person I’ve met in a long time. She understands me, and - don’t tell anyone,” Derek adds, looking nervous. Stiles fights the urge to pinch his cheeks, “But we _are_ actually getting new furniture and more “homey” things,” He puts in air quotes with a roll of his eyes.

“That doesn’t sound _anything_ like you,” Stiles grimaces’, suddenly disliking the way Derek’s gone soft.

“It’s not exactly what I’d normally do,” Derek admits, “But I _did_ think about settling down when I was younger. I’d grown up in a big family, and I imagined that I’d get married and start one too. Have a partner, kids, maybe a pet – _not,_ a dog,” he points out, frowning, “But after the fire, those ideas were child’s play. I didn’t ever picture having a pack again. And a family…” Derek bowed his head down, his shoulders slumping. “I didn’t even allow myself to dream of it,” He looked up at Stiles through his lashes, and something in Stiles twisted uneasily when Derek gave a small, utterly genuine smile, “Though now I have Braeden, I have friends, I have a pack. I don’t know if the whole big family would come around so soon, but,” Derek glanced to the side, where the unmade cushions lay, “But maybe a new couch is a step in the right direction,”

 

“You’re seriously getting a new couch?” Stiles asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not ideal. But Braeden did say it would brighten up the place,”

Stiles laughed, “Dude, I am sorry to say but you are _whipped_ ,” Stiles mimed a whipping action while Derek glared at him.

“Shut up,” Derek argued, before chuckling quietly in defeat, “But you’re right. I don’t even _need_ this couch,”

“Why are you getting it?” Stiles questioned, walking over to the discarded pieces of wood, picking one up and examining it.

“Sometimes you just can’t say no to a woman,” Derek sighed, joining Stiles. “I don’t want to be sexist or anything, but it would be _so much easier_ if I lived with a guy,”

“Yeah?” Stiles turned to face Derek, who nodded.

“Definitely. I went around with this one dude when I was in New York, and he stayed over at our apartment sometimes. He never complained about the lack of furniture, or asked about my family. Hell, I don’t even think he knew that Laura was my sister. He just came for fucks, and fucks he got,”

Stiles tried not to fall over, “The _guy_?!” he gawked.

“Yes,” Derek said slowly, “The guy,”

“You’re _gay_?” Stiles whispered, even though it was only the two of them in the room.

“Bi, Stiles,” Derek corrected, “I’m bi. You’re okay with that, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Stiles bobbed his head enthusiastically, “I’m all for my gays. Hell, I love Danny, you know?”

Derek laughed, “I know Stiles. You love him so much you used my body just to get him to crack a cell phone number,”

Stiles winced at the reminder, “Hey, I was _not_ proud of that, okay,”

Derek clapped him on the back, before going to the other side of the pile.

“Well, I’m going to have to assemble this before Braeden gets home,” Derek looked up at Stiles, “You want to help?”

 

Stiles should have declined. He should have left and made his way home and out of Derek’s personal life. The two didn’t usually act so freely around each other, and they shouldn’t be acting so freely _now_.

But maybe this was the much needed bonding time Stiles had been debating about, these past few weeks. Maybe this was a way they could open up to each other. Maybe, just maybe, Stiles had found someone who wouldn’t abandon him so quickly.

Maybe that was why he said yes.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG! How cute was that Sterek? Btw, who watched season 5b? *raises hand*
> 
> So Derek's bi, huh? Heck, we all knew that. STILES! Where you been boi?
> 
> Thanks you so much for all your kudos and comments and cantaloupes and everything else!


	13. Keep These Flames Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Yeah, on the pitch? You managed to shoot the thing down with some kinds of fireball, and it burnt to ashes,” he remarks, taking a bite of his burger, hoping the snark stays out of his voice.  
> “Oh, yes,” Melaena looks nervous, nibbling at her lip again, “I-I guess I just shoot it down,”  
> “Yeah, but how?” Stiles presses, “You just told me that all you can do is enchant people. I don’t think that your fiery fist of fury was some form of enchantment, do you?”  
> “I don’t know,” Melaena says, almost a little desperate, “I wish I did, but I don’t. And this has been happening too much. Everyday something weird happens. Like, a door closes without me shutting it, or my hair dries in only a few minutes. Yesterday, I am reading about how it is very dark, and my light turns on! Just like that!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. Stiles raises his eyebrows, and Melaena must catch the movement, because she looks at him earnestly, “Please believe me Stiles. No one else would,”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ummmmm, hi?
> 
> OKAY PLEASE DON'T KILL ME I'M SORRY I'M SORRY I'M SORRY!  
> Should I explain? Can I say exams? Can I say a lot of shit? Will you still hate me?
> 
> You probably will.
> 
> Okay, so, new chapter (yay). I know it's been a REALLY long time, but it's a long one! Longest chapter yet. I actually think it's more than the first three put together.
> 
> Anyway, finding out more on Melaena, really cute Sterek moment.
> 
> AND A TW! Like, if you get trigger warnings from things like nightmares or fire, skip the LAST PART! Please!
> 
> That's all! Enjoy this extra long chapter my avocados!
> 
> (I'LL TRY TO HAVE THE NEXT CHAPTER UP BY THE START OF APRIL!)

“That actually looks pretty good,” Derek commented, dusting his hands. Stiles threw a random pillow onto the black leather, and nodded in agreement.

“Yeah, it does,” he agreed, looked up to Derek, who was smiling at him, “We actually make a pretty good team when we’re not trying to rip out each other’s throats,”

Derek huffed a laugh, walking away and towards the empty boxes, “We do,”

He crouched down and gathered a pile of cardboard into his arms, “I’m going to toss these in the trash outside, but I’ll be back in a minute,”

“Take your time, man,” Stiles assured, waving him off. He watched Derek walk out of the loft, and let out breath of relief once he was safely away. That had been weird. For two solid hours they had worked, talking about the most unusual of subjects. College, maintenance, neighbouring packs. Derek had brought up the Hale house, mentioning on how he wanted to fix it up.

“I won’t like it,” he had confessed, “There’re way too many memories there. But it might be a good way to move on. And we can have Scott claim the area as a fully pledged alpha, too,”

 

Stiles had listened, understanding where Derek was coming from. After his mother died, he’d been tempted to burn any possessions left of her. But the sheriff had convinced him to keep them. Th guest bedroom is now some sort of shrine, in memory of her.

 

Stiles’ phone buzzes, snapping him out of his daze. He pulls it out, and the screen flashes with an incoming message from Deaton.

**Deaton: She’s awake**

 

“Everything okay?”

Stiles spins around to see Derek, who’s back up, and looking slightly concerned.

“Huh? Oh, yeah! Yeah, um, everything’s fine. Just a message from Deaton, that’s all,”

“Something important?” 

Stiles shuffled on his feet uncomfortably, “I don’t think so, but it seems like he wants me over pretty soon,”

“Are you okay to drive?”

Stiles scoffs, “Why would’I be?”

“Well, you seem a little shaken up right now-”

“Dude! I was just surprised at the text! I’m don’t need a wolf-guard with me _all_ the time. I’m not that pathetic,”

The man casts his eyes away, frowning, “I never said that. I was only concerned,”

“Yeah, well, you don’t need to be,”

Derek doesn’t say anything, keeping his head turned away, an Stiles can’t help but wonder what goes through his mind sometimes.

 

Sighing, he slips his phone back into his pocket and makes his way towards the door.

“Thanks for, uh, talking to me, I guess. I’ll catch you later,”

 

Derek only folds his arms across his chest, keeping his scowl. Stiles takes an exasperated breath and rolling his eyes, before he leaves, promptly closing the door behind him.

 

***

 

Melaena’s sitting up on the surgical bed, staring around in bewilderment when Stiles walks into the clinic. Deaton’s nowhere to be seen, but the back door’s ajar. A small stack of syringes lie next to jars of strange purple liquid, and Stiles only dreads to think what they were used for.

 

“Hey,” he greets softly, treading up to Melaena, “How you feeling?”

Melaena’s eyes grow wide, and Stiles’ heart melts a little bit more in sympathy.

“Stiles, what- where are we?”

“Um, this is the animal clinic,” he answers. Melaena stick her bottom lip out, frowning, and Stiles cringes at her expression, “I didn’t take you here because I thought you were an animal or anything, but this is the only place where someone might know what to do with you,”

Melaena’s brow furrows deeper.

“Not like that!” Stiles urgently jumps out, nearly knocking over the purple jar, “Like, a hospital would know and stuff, but you did some pretty weird shit back there, and they might think that we’re messed up. Not that I’m saying you’re messed up, because you’re not! Hell, my best friend’s a werewolf and my ex is a were-coyote -which is a thing! That’s messed up. So is this, in a way, because like, you did some weird voodoo hoodoo shit with your hands that killed the angel and I kinda thought that-,”

“Mr Stilinski, I would advise you to take a breathe between sentences as you may pass out from a severe and dangerously low lack of oxygen,” Deaton interrupts, walking in and places a bag of dog food onto the counter, “The rate of which you are capable of speaking is indeed rather remarkable, but I wouldn’t appreciate an unconscious teenager on the floor of my clinic,”

“Sorry Doc,” Stiles apologises, “Just trying to keep my head on,”

Deaton ignores him, filling a cup of water and handing it to Melaena, “And how are you feeling, Melaena?”

“I am feeling little bit dizzy,” she says, sipping the drink, “But much better than before,”

“Good, good,” Deaton murmurs, “And do you remember anything that happened?”

Melaena nods, “Some parts, yes,”

Deaton turns to face Stiles, “Mr Stilinski, would you ming escorting Melaena to a coffee shop? I would insist for her to eat something, and be filled up on current events, don’t you agree?”

“Uh, sure,” Stiles shrugs, “There’s a Starbucks like, a block away. We could go there?” he suggests.

Melaena nods again, hopping off the bed, “Alright,”

“Great,”

 

Stiles gestures for Melaena to leave the room. She smiles sweetly, making her way to the door. Stiles is about to follow, when Deaton grabs his arm, pulling him in close.

“Try an find out as much as you can, Mr Stilinski,” he whispers, “I feel like this girl will be an excellent asset to solving our problem. We want to make sure that we know as much as possible. And that we always have the upper hand,”

Stiles takes his arms back, bobbing his head in acceptance, “Okay,”

 

“Stiles, you are coming, no?” Melaena calls out, holding the door open.

“Yeah! Yeah, uh, on my way,” Stiles stammered, flailing to scurry out of the door. He closes it, but fails to miss Deaton’s expectant stare.

 

They walk halfway down the road, when Melaena grabs Stiles’ arm, turning him to face her, “Instead of going to the Starbars,”

“Star _bucks_ ,” Stiles corrects.

“We can go to my papa’s, uh, _dad’s,_ cafe. We won’t be asked to pay or anything,”

Stiles contemplates for a split second, before complying graciously, “It wouldn’t hurt my wallet,” he states, “Lead the way!”

Melaena beams, “Of course,” 

She turns to the opposite side of the street and begins to walk. Stiles catches up with her, hopping along in synchronisation. 

“What kind of cafe does your dad own?” Stiles asks, realising that Melaena had never spoken of it before. Well, not in depth at least.

“It is lunch-bar, type. Called Arot Cudesal,” Melaena answers, “It is Spanish name,”

Stiles almost stops moving, but he manages to pick himself up and continue in stride.

_Arot Cudesal._

A new cafe. He remembers his dad telling him about it.

_“A group of construction workers,” John starts of, “Ten, to be precise. They visited a new bar opening in the city. Called Argo Crudes, something weird like that._

All the dead or missing people visited Melaena’s cafe. 

 

“Uh, was your cafe interviewed recently?” Stiles asks, trying to brush off as casual.

Melaena gives him a sideways glance, “Why are you asking?” 

“Umm, well, because my dad, he uh, he said something about it, and you know?” Stiles stutters, failing at his nonchalance.

“Hu. Well, now that I am thinking about it, yes. The police mans did come and ask some questions to my papa,” Melaena remarks, as if remembering old information, “But it was not anything serious,”

“Obviously,” Stiles mutters under his breath, “Mass murders are only normal these days,”

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Stiles sighs.

 

***

 

After another ten minutes of wandering though streets Stiles has legit _never_ seen, they reach a big, oak replicated cafe. The words _Arot Cudesal_ stand out in large black letters. The material looking powdery, yet holding strong.

“What does Arot Cudesal mean?” Stiles asks, walking in.

“It does not matter,” Melaena dismisses the suggestion, “Are you hungry? I can get big fat American burger for you, if you want?”

Stiles freezes for a moment, before laughing aloud.

“What? You do not want burger?” Melaena pouts, tilting her head to the side.

“No no, a burger’s fine,” Stiles chuckles, wiping his eye, “I’ve just never heard anyone call them big fat American burgers before, that’s all,”

“But that is their name,” Melaena explains.

 

Stiles is about to answer when a stunning, tall, brunette struts through a door at the back.

“Melaena!” she calls in an even thicker accent than Melaena’s, waving an arm and walking over, “Who is this?”

“This my friends Stiles,”

“Pleased to meet you,” Stiles sticks out an arm. The woman raises an eyebrow at him, then looks at Melaena. Stiles lowers his hand uncomfortable, clearing his throat.

“Este menino é o seu novo brinquedo?” the woman asks in a language Stiles has never heard, “Ele não vai durar muito tempo,”

“ _Lolita_!” Melaena hisses furiously, “Cale a boca! E confiem em mim, ele tem muito mais do que você pensa.Você viu no escuro ultimamente?”

The woman -Lolita, Stiles now assumes to be her name- nods, folding her thin arms over her padded chest.

“Now, if you would stop being so rude,” Melaena grits, “I would like to talk to my friend while eating burger,”

“Cadela,” Lolita snaps at Melaena when they pass her.

“Ladrão de berço,” Melaena bites back.

Stiles only stares in shock. He’s never even seen Melaena raise her voice, forget argue with a person.

“Well, that was, uh, _interesting_ ,” Stiles offers as they take a seat around an circular shaped oak table.

“I am sorry about her,” Melaena winces, “My sister Lolita is still adjusting to new life in California,”

“You’re whole family came here?”

Melaena nods, “Me, my four sisters, my mother and my father,”

“You have _four_ sisters?” Stiles gawks.

“Six, but two have moved to England,”

“Wow, doesn’t it ever get crazy?”

“All the time,” Melaena giggles, (and Stiles’ brain liquifies into slush) “But we manage to keep the peaceful, yes?”

“That’s a little like my friends. At school we try not to attract too much attention, but at Derek’s loft, _whoo_ , boy do we go crazy! I remember once we were playing a game of twister, and Malia got so competitive she ended up ripping the sheet with her claws and we-”

Stiles stops mid sentence, suddenly realising what he just said. He looks up, gaping at Melaena who’s studying him curiously. Her brown eyes are innocent, yet Stiles feels like she knows every secret about him. Melaena props her elbows onto the table, clasping her hands and resting her petite chin on top.

 

“Stiles,” she starts, nibbling at her bottom lip. Stiles desperately tries to lower the rapid pace of his heartbeat, “We both know that what happened at sports pitch in the afternoon was not normal, yes?”

Stiles gives a small nod, inhaling through his nose.

“And what you saw me do was not normal either. But what I saw your friends doing,” Melaena pauses, as if trying to find the right words, “That was, _unusual_ ,”

Stiles jiggles his knee up and down, desperate to find out more. “What did you do to that angel-thing, Melaena?” he asks.

Melaena glances around, checking for any eaves droppers. Once seemingly satisfied, she catches Stiles dead in the eye, before detaching her fingers from their hold and gently placing a nimble hand onto Stiles’. 

 

“I am going to tell you something Stiles,” Melaena’s voice drops, “Something that _very_ little people know. And by very little, I mean not even my family,”

Stiles looks down towards their holding hands, resisting the urge to squirm.

“What is it?” he asks, not daring to face Melaena.

“I am, what you would call, an… an Encantados,” she stammers.

 

Stiles darts his head up.

“What?”

“It is not very common thing,” Melaena adds quickly, her cheeks growing slightly red, “And I don’t think that anyone will know what it is,”

Stiles frowns, still troubled. “What’s, what’s an, en-car-ta-doo?”

“ _Encantados_ ,” Melaena corrects, “It is type of, uh, how you say _lendário_ here? Mythical creature, I think it is,”

“Oh, a supernatural creature,”

“Yes! That is the one. I am encantados,”

Stiles pauses, the word sounding vaguely familiar, “I, I feel like I’ve heard that somewhere…” Stiles jumps in his seat, “Hey- wait, isn’t, isn’t that a type of Mexican food?”

Melaena raises an eyebrow, “Mexican? What, no Stiles. You are talking about enchiladas. And they are not _Mexican_ ,” Melaena practically scoffs, looking so offended it’s almost funny, “They are Spanish,”

“Sorry,” Stiles apologises, “It’s just that, I’ve never, I’ve never, uh- heard of an Encantados before,”

 

 Melaena smiles sweetly, “I did not think so, they are very rare,”

“What is it? Like, what can they do?”

“Well, it is little complicated. Most have strange powers that make life and death, and some can control the mind. The only thing that happens to me, is, well,” Melaena turns away, blushing furiously, “It just makes some of the boys like me,”

“Huh?”

“Encantados is another word for ‘Enchantress’,” Melaena develops further, “And I can make people like me without even trying. I enchant them, yes,”

“Seriously?”

Melaena shrugs, looking defeated, “It is why I do not usually make friends, because I know that they are only being nice because of my power. But you, Stiles,” she peers up through her big eyes and Stiles grins at her, “I can feel you being nice just, _because_ ,”

“Are you saying your powers have no effect on me?” Stiles smirks, trying to lighten the mood slightly.

Melaena giggles, “I am saying that you are naturally a nice person, and that makes me very happy,”

Stiles nods, “Glad to have cleared that up,”

She beams again, but the silence remains. Her sister comes up to them, dropping two plates of burgers on the table with a clatter. She glares at Stiles before sashaying off, and Stiles wonders at the kind of family in this house. Are they all as confusing as Melaena?

 

Just because they understood a couple of problems, doesn't mean that everything’s sorted out. There are still loads of questions Stiles is bursting to ask. Like how did she create that totally-awesome-yet-slightly-freaky-fire-ball? And how did she know what to do? Did Melaena have heightened senses too? Because she obviously overheard Stiles’ quiet conversation to Lydia about meeting in the library. And where did she get her powers from? She certainly didn’t inherit them from her family, seeing as they don’t even know what she is. Melaena’s an enchantress, and Deaton said that those type of witches were behind the trouble in Beacon Hills. Was it Melaena? Could it really be the one person that Stiles is so captivated by? Would fate actually be that cruel?

 

Melaena has remained silent too, blinking at Stiles intently. He’s nearly captured by the depth of her focus. Now that Stiles thinks about it, it isn’t that hard to believe that she can enchant a person. Melaena obviously has always been naturally beautiful, that cannot be denied. Though maybe Stiles would be so fascinated if it weren’t for her power. It’s why he struggled to divert his attention from her so often.

 

It’s rare that Stiles meets people so enticing. Lydia was an exception. She was such an amazing combination of brilliant and beautiful that no one could resist falling for her. But now that Stiles rethinks it, there was never a real spark there. They were so close, he saw her as a part of him, not a girlfriend. 

Malia was dangerous and dominating. That’s why Stiles fell for _her_. The girl’s attitude and confidence were so riveting, he was easily captured. Malia hadn’t been the nicest though, so Stiles didn’t always find so easy to breathe. 

 

There wasn’t anyone else, or at least no one Stiles knew about. The rest of the pack were either in relationships, or waaayyyy out of his age range. Scott had Kira, Jordan had Lydia, Theo had Malia (but now the idea of a relationship with either of them made Stiles laugh) Liam and Peter- out of age range. The only one left was Derek and Braeden. The funny thing was, Stiles sometimes felt _most_ jealous about that pairing. He wasn't jealous of _Derek_. Braeden was cool and all, but a little too terrifying for him.

He wasn’t able to control the sulk that grew on him when they gazed fondly at each other, or how his skin seemed to burn whenever Derek kissed Braeden. Her forehead, her cheek, nose, neck, lips. Anywhere else. It wasn’t fair. For whatever reason Stiles didn’t know. It was just how he acted, what he did. It to Stiles.

Jealousy is an unfair friend, but when compared to arrogance, it’s the lesser of two evils.

 

“Stiles? You have not been talking for long time again,”

Stiles sighs, “What did you do to the creature?”

Melaena blinked, surprised. It was probably at the forwardness of the question, but Stiles was done beating around the bush. He was tired. And not physically, oh no. These days, the only thing keeping _him_ up was the internet and porn. He actually got more than seven hours sleep last Wednesday.

Nope, this tiredness was in a mental form. He was tired of overthinking everything. His brain was constantly whizzing with new possible conclusions of cases. And if he could save some sense by directly asking Melaena, that so be it.

 

“What I did?” Melaena sounds confused, and why, Stiles doesn’t know. It’s a pretty fucking straight forward question.

“Yeah, on the pitch? You managed to shoot the thing down with some kinds of fireball, and it burnt to ashes,” he remarks, taking a bite of his burger, hoping the snark stays out of his voice.

“Oh, yes,” Melaena looks nervous, nibbling at her lip again, “I-I guess I just shoot it down,”

“Yeah, but _how_?” Stiles presses, “You just told me that all you can do is enchant people. I don’t think that your fiery fist of fury was some form of enchantment, do you?”

“I don’t know,” Melaena says, almost a little desperate, “I wish I did, but I don’t. And this has been happening too  much. Everyday something weird happens. Like, a door closes without me shutting it, or my hair dries in only a few minutes. Yesterday, I am reading about how it is very dark, and my light turns on! Just like that!” she exclaims, throwing her hands up in the air. Stiles raises his eyebrows, and Melaena must catch the movement, because she looks at him earnestly, “Please believe me Stiles. No one else would,”

 

This makes Stiles stop. Because he knows this feeling. The feeling of strange things occurring and having no control over them. Having no one to help him. Stiles nods, chewing. He swallows down a mouthful before speaking again.

“I believe you,” he says, “Similar shit’s been fucking with me, too”

“Like what?”

“You won’t understand it,” he shakes his head, “Not now. There’s a lot we need to cover before I can tell you about me. After we finish you, I’ll tell our side of the story. Scott, the pack, the angel-creature-thing,”

“You should give it name,”

“I should do what?”

“A _name_. You should give the angel name,”

Stiles huffs in amusement, “Like what?”

Melaena frowns for a moment, thinking hard, “I like Dalmatia,”

Stiles bursts into a loud laugh, “What the fu- What kind of name is _Dalmatia_!?”

Melaena purses her lips, “Stop laughing at me! Dalmatia is nice name! My pet back home was called Dalmatia,”

“And what pet did you have,” 

“A mouse,” Melaena sticks her nose in the air, “He died when I was fifteen,”

Stiles splutters, “So you want me to call the angel Dalmatia? After your dead mouse”

“Yes,”

“As you wish,” Stiles mutters, shaking his head, “I am your Wetly, after all. Now, back to story. Where did you get your powers from,”

Melaena bites her lip, “Uh, I- I do not know that either,”

“ _What?_ ” Stiles tries not look too pissed, “Melaena, you know, like, nothing about yourself! How long has this lasted?”

“Too long,” Melaena says, leaning forward, and gripping Stiles’ hand tighter, “But I want to find out more Stiles, really, I do. When I was around ten I was having strange dreams, then some days I do weird things too. I look up on enter-net, and encantados comes up. That is how I realise,”

“Did you talk to your mum?”

“No, she would not have believed me. No one would have,” Melaena gives a bitter laugh,  turning away, “Who would believe a crazy girl? A girl with no friends, with a crazy family, a girl who talks to herself. Mad Mel! That is what the children called me. So I got bored! I got bored of everyone! They were all the same, and-and…,” Melaena stops, glancing back up at Stiles, her eyes watering, “I felt alone. No one understood me, and no one wanted to even, _know_ who I was,” she blinks a tear falling down her cheek. Stiles tracing a slow pattern with his thumb onto her hand, “But you do,” she whispers.

Stiles looks into her eyes, nodding.

“I’ve never told this to anyone,” Melaena confesses, “And I now want to know about you,” She gives Stiles a strong look, taking his breath away, “Tell me, _everything_ ,”

 

And Stiles does. He tells her all about Scott, how he was bitten, how fallen he was of Allison. He tells her when Derek killed Peter, becoming alpha. They discuss Kanimas, Druids, Alpha packs. Eventually, they reach Nogitsunes. 

“I didn’t even know who I was anymore,” Stiles says solemnly, “My mind, my body, he had it all. I did some horrible things, Melaena. So, so horrible. Ali, Ethan, Boyd and Erica. They were all big parts in our life,”

He tells her how Kate made a reappearance, turning Derek. Melaena listens intently to this part, asking questions.

“Did he soon find a way of changing back?” 

“Well, he began to fight a load of berserkers at one point, and after that, he was normal again,”

“Was he fighting _for_ something?” Melaena asks.

“Uh, not that I know of…” Stiles says, “Why is it important?”

Melaena dismisses him, going for another question, “Was he protecting anyone?”

“Well, the entire pack was there…”

“Were _you_ there?”

Stiles nods, uncomfortable, “Yeah, but, Mel, what does Derek saving our asses have anything to do with this?”

Melaena scowls, glancing down. Her lips turn into a pout, looking like a child without an ice cream. He swears he can see a glowing spark of red flashing in her glare, but it passes too quickly for Stiles to make out. He’s never seen Melaena so concentrated, like she’s trying to figure out how to defuse a nuclear bomb or something. Stiles is about to ask if she’s okay, when her head snaps up.

“Yes,” she exclaims, her eyes gleaming. The pout’s gone, and in it’s place is a shimmering grin. “Yes, that is very good! I am very happy with that,”

“Happy with what?”

Melaena’s head darts to Stiles, and her grin falters for a bit, before she beams again. “Very happy that your friend was okay!” she laughs, “It would be bad if he died,”

“Whoah, where did _dying_ come from?”

“Just, you know,” she shrugs, “It would be bad if he did. Not that you are minding…” Melaena tails off, looking almost expectant.

“ _What?_ Why wouldn’t I mind Derek dying?” 

“Because you said he annoys you. You even called him sour werewolf,”

“It’s just sourwolf,” Stiles grits, “And even if he is a pain in the ass, he’s saved it, like, a gazillion times,”

“Really?” Melaena asks, tilting her head to the side.

“Yes,” Stiles nods defiantly, leaning forward, “Derek does _a lot_ for us. Hell, I doubt most of the pack would be here if it weren’t for him. That dude is brave, loyal, strong, and I’ll be damned if no one minds him dying. He’d put any of us before himself, including me. Regardless of his shitty history, his still keeps on fighting alongside the pack- that’s heart if I ever saw it,” 

He sits back, breathing heavily though his nose. Wow, Stiles never knew he could defend Derek so determinedly.

Melaena purses her lips together, still looking slightly unsure, “Hmmm, I do not know,” she says, scrunching up her nose.

“You don’t know, _what_?”

“I mean, his past cannot be _so_ bad, yes? He only killed his mean girlfriend, and stuff, right?”

“Derek has gone through _much_ more than that,” Stiles insists, gripping the table edge hard. He knows this is a bad idea, he knows he’s about to break and let loose. He knows he shouldn’t do this, and he doesn’t want to. But something’s pulling it from his lips, and Stiles can’t help but open up, “His first love asked to be killed _in his arms_ , when he was just fifteen. Barely a year later, Kate Argent seduced him, but only with the intention of burning down his family house. Everyone died, apart from his uncle and two sister. One of which he didn’t even survived! Then six years later, he comes back to find Peter killed his sister, and is accused of killing her himself. And if that’s not bad enough, he ends up killing Peter so Scott isn’t burdened with an Alpha status, which would’ve have ruined his fucking life! At least another fifty pounds of shit is resting on his shoulders, so don’t go saying Derek hasn’t had a bad past, because I don't know anyone who’s had it worse,” he spits, trying to ease the urge to yell.

Stiles can feel a burning sensation flooding through his arms. Looking down, he sees his finger tips turning a icy white, blue veins standing out, throbbing like bugling worms. Stiles hadn’t realised how tight he was holding on to the wood of the table, but now he realises that he’s dented the rim. He pulls his hand away, like he’s been burnt.

Peering up, Stiles catches Melaena watching him. Her eyes are narrowed very slightly, her head tilted to the side.

“Um, that, uh, happens sometimes…” Stiles grimaces, hiding his hands from sight.

“It is alright,” Melaena says, not moving from her position, “It is god to know how much you care about Derek,”

“Huh?” Stiles thinks aloud, then he freezes, the reality of what he just did slapping him in the face, “Oh shit! Fucking hell, oh fuck, look Mel, I wasn’t meant to tell you that,” Stiles swears, dropping his head onto the table.

“Oh, do not worry Stiles,”

Stiles picks his head up, frowning.

“I promise I will not be telling anyone about how Derek has had very bad life,” she assures, drawing a cross over her heart and smiling wide. For some strange reason, this smile makes Stiles uncomfortable. He wiggles around in his seat, for a minute, trying to get rid of the uneasiness settling in his stomach.

“Yeah, ok,”

 

Melaena beams, “Great! So, carry on with the story,”

Stiles doesn’t want to. He doesn’t know why, but a voice in the back of his is telling him not to. His subconscious? Could Mirror Stiles exists beyond the walls of his bedroom? 

He tries not to panic when the collar of his shirt gets seemingly tighter, and the air of the room gets warmer. A drop of sweat rolls down his forehead, and Stiles can feel his breaths getting heavier.

“Uh, Mel, do you have a, um, a bathroom here?” Stiles chokes out, rubbing his damp palms against the denim of his jeans.

“Yes, of course,” she gets up, pointing to a door in the back of the room, “Open the door and go into the corridor with the blue fishes,”

“Yeah, okay,” Stiles practically yanks himself away from the booth, blundering to the bathrooms.

 

He opens the door to a wide room, basins lined neatly against one side of the wall, urinals against another, and the last filled with toilet stalls. If it were any other day, Stiles may’ve appreciated the intricate patterns carved into the ceiling, or the array of large mirrors hanging above the platforms, but now, he can only think of keeping himself upright. Stiles tumbles in and falls against the sink, resting his elbows on the cool metal. His breathing is rapid and uneven, and Stiles can feel his heart thumping in his chest. 

 

 _I’ve shared too much, I’ve shared too much,_ is all Stiles can think.

_I’ve told her everything and she still wants to know more. Oh shit oh shit oh shit, Derek’s going to kill me, I am a dead man_

 

“If you could stop freaking out and actually _think,_ like a human being for once,” a snarky voice calls out, “You might be able to see that you’re not going to die,”

Stiles closes his eyes shut, praying for it to go away. He’s not ready to deal with this again.

“Ha! You know, praying isn’t going to help you very much. You don’t really believe in God or anything, right?”

“Ignore him Stiles,” Stiles mutters, trying to relax his stance, “Ignore him and he’ll go away,”

“I’m no’ a _fly_ ,”

Stiles looks up, glaring at a smirking Mirror Stiles, “That’s quite a pity really. Means I can’t drown you in my piss,”

“Geez, what crawled up your ass and died?” Mirror Stiles snickers.

“Why the fuck are you even here?”

“Dude,” he rolls his eyes, “I’m your guru. You fall into shit like, twenty-four seven. You need someone to sort your crappy excuse of a life out for you,”

“And that someone is my subconscious?”

“We’ve been through this before, Stiles,” the reflection sighs, “I’m just you. Only smarter,”

“And 2D,”

“Dimensions are irrelevant in a world like this,” Mirror Stiles says, “Our _real_ problem, is that little Brazilian princess,”

Stiles doesn’t say anything for a moment, before dropping his head in defeat.

“I don’t even know what to think about her anymore,” he admits.

“Why?”

“Because!” Stiles cries, throwing his arms in the air, “This morning we were talking about her life in Brazil and stuff, and now she’s creeping me out with her new found fascination on Derek,”

“That upsets you?”

“It confuses me!” Stiles balls his fits up, “Who the hell am I to go around spilling all this information? It’s none of my business!”

“Then why did you tell her?” Mirror Stiles asks, looking amused.

“I don’t know! I was’t meant to. I said to myself, it was a bad idea, but I still told her. And I don’t know why! It- it was like, some-something had _pulled_ it out of me,”

“Something?” Mirror Stiles adds, “Or some _one_ ,”

Stiles pauses, “What?”

“Maybe someone wanted the information, and saw that you were struggling to share,”

“But, who?” Stiles watches Mirror Stiles raise an eyebrow, then gesture to outside of the room, “ _Melaena_!? Why, why would she want to know anything?”

“Maybe she needs a pack,” Mirror Stiles suggests, “She did say that no one knows about her, the girl probably wants protection of some sort,”

“Why would she need protection?” Stiles rubs his head, “Is she in danger?”

“Beats me,” the reflection shrugs, “But if I were you, I’d let her in. From the looks of it, she’s pretty interested in you too, Stiles”

“That’s not important right now,” he dismisses.

“Isn’t it?” Mirror Stiles claps his hands smirking, “When was the last time you got laid, Stiles?”

“Oh fuck you,” Stiles groans.

“If only you could,” the reflection chuckles, “It’s one way of getting some,”

“You know what, fuck off,” Stiles countered, “You don’t even have a dick, just a reflection of _mine_. Who was the last person you fucked, the Mona Lisa?” 

Mirror Stiles laughs out loud, folding his arms. Stiles flips him off.

“Oh, go to hell. They might have some more ugly ass paintings for you to grind on. And while you’re with the dead, ask Van Gogh to paint a larger dick on you. It’ll definitely  improve your sex life, you flimsy ass mother-fucker,”

 

“Ahem,” 

 

Stiles spins around, falling over when he sees an old man by the door.

“Are you alright, son?”

 

Stiles gapes, before nodding silently.

What’s he _supposed_ to do? He was caught giving sex advice to a mirror. Stiles doesn’t know how long the man’s been watching him, but he’s not waiting any longer to find out.

He pushes himself off the floor, taking a last look into the mirror. The reflection imitates him perfectly, but there’s a certain twinkle in the eye that doesn’t look natural. Stiles tries not to trip over his feet while fumbling out the door. 

 

And straight into Lolita. Who’s carrying several cups of very hot tea. Which spill all over her tight blouse.

“Oh meu Deus, você filho da puta,” she cries, dropping the tray with a clatter. 

_Fuck!_

Barely here half an hour and already causing havoc. Couldn’t Stiles not fuck up just once? He knew that the bitchy sister already had something out for him. 

Stiles reaches out to a nearby table and grabs a handful of napkins, thrusting them towards her.

“Holy shit, wow, I am _so_ sorry, fuck- I didn’t mean to do that,” he apologies in a rush, dabbing carelessly at her chest.

Lolita snatches them out of Stiles grasp, cleaning herself off.

“You should be careful more,” she scolds, harshly, “Filho da puta estúpido,”

“I’m guessing you’re not calling me a handsome, kind gentleman,” Stiles attempts, wincing at the glare he receives, “Who, by the way, is incredibly apologetic for washing you in scalding coffee. Which looks really hot. Should you get some ice or…”

 

“Stiles?”

Melaena’s surprised face pops into view, “Is everything okay?”

“Huh? Oh, yeah, it’s um-” he gesturers vaguely towards Lolita’s drenched shirt, “A small accident,”

“Seu pequeno fantoche quase me expor!” Lolita snaps at Melaena, looking a lot more pissed than before.

“He did not mean to,” Melaena mutters, frowning.

“Keep him under control,”

“Yes, yes, sorry,” Melaena tugs at Stiles’ sleeve, “Let us go, Stiles,”

Stiles moves away, uncomfortably. This place was beginning to give him some serious creepy vibes.

“Uh, actually, it’s getting kinda late. Can we call it a day, cause I should be getting home,”

Melaena’s shoulders fall, “Oh, okay then,”

“I’ll see you Monday though, right?”

“Yes, I guess,”

Stiles smiles wide, relief washing over him.

“Awesome!”

 

He steps aside, giving a small wave to the still scowling Lolita, “Bye Lola-”

“ _Lolita,_ ” she practically snarls at Stiles.

“Bye Mel!”

“Goodbye Stiles,” Melaena grins back, wiggling her fingers, “I will see you soon, yes?”

“Sure,” Stiles confirm, not knowing how much he means it.

 

***

 

The door to Deaton’s office is open when Stiles reaches there. He saunters in, peering around the desks.

“Yo, Doc? Anyone here?” he calls out, walking towards a door at the back. He pushes it, revealing an empty storage closet.

“That’s weird,” Stiles mutters, “I don’t remember this being here before,”

“That’s because it wasn’t,”

Stiles jumps, skittering around. Deaton’s leaning against the wall, wearing an amused expression on his face.

“Hello Mr Stilinski,” he greets, “Glad to see you’ve found my Illusional Mirage,”

“Your what?”

“I’ve been looking into the case of these ‘hallucinations’, as you call them,” Deaton began, “And I’ve realised that there are many types of illusions you can create as being emissaries. This one is very basic, a simple picture extracted from a different view point, and placed mentally. It’s too divert the brain from expectations,”

“Huh, that’s cool,” Stiles mutters.

“It is. We could maybe see about getting you some more training with this,”

Stiles scoffs, “Fat chance of that getting anywhere. You’ve seen how crappy I am at this magic shit,”

“Now might just be the perfect time to embrace your spark, Stiles,” Deaton advise, “With all this excess energy building inside of you, your spark could possibly grow. The magic inside of you is strong, and with the correct training, this can expand and become of more use. Scott would certainly benefit an emissary,”

 

Stiles ponders this. He’s known for a long time now, that he’s the ball boy of the pack. He has no proper use, no value. Replace him with a sack of potatoes and they would get on just fine.

If he can use his magic in some ways, it could help him. Help the pack. Stiles won’t be useless. He can finally show that there’s a purpose for his existence with them.

 

“Okay,” Stiles nods, “Yeah, we can do that,”

“Excellent,” Deaton walks over and closes the door, “We’ll set a time for next week. I’ll be having Derek and Liam over on Tuesdays after four, you can join them,”

“Why’re they going to be over?”

“Derek wants to discover more about evolved wolves,” he explains, reaching to a shelf a bringing down stacks of papers, “And how to control them. Liam still needs a little help with improving on his senses. I have some meditation exercises for him. They help calm the mind,” Deaton starts to rearrange the files, flipping though them.

“Cool,” 

 

“Anything else, Mr Stilinski?” Deaton asks, “Or is that all,”

“Oh, I just wanted to give you some info on Melaena,”

Deaton stops, looking intrigued, “And what did you find out?”

“Well, she’s this thing called an Encartation-”

“Encantados,” Deaton corrects.

“Crap, I need to learn that name,” Stiles grumbles, “Anyway, she’s that. It’s a type of enchantress. But I don’t think she’s the one following me around. There must be another,”

“Perhaps her family?” Deaton suggests.

Stiles shakes his head, “Nope, it’s not genetic at all. She’s the only one in her family,”

“What else?”

“That’s it, pretty much. She doesn’t know what the angle was, but I think she could help us find out. Melaena seems pretty handy in some cases,”

Deaton frowns, tapping his chin thoughtfully. 

“Tell Scott, and Derek,” he says after a minute, “Let them decide whether or not she should be included in this. Your alpha will know what’s best,”

“Okay,” Stiles assured, “I’ll go now,”

“Stiles, it’s half past two,”

“What?” Stiles looks up at the clock, and sure enough, there it is, “Wow, I didn’t know it was so late,”

“You _have_ had a long day,” Deaton chuckles, opening the door for Stiles “Go home, sleep, and talk to both of them tomorrow evening,”

Stiles rubs his face blearily, walking out the office, “Alright. Night Deaton,”

“Goodnight Stiles,” Deaton smiles again, before closing the door.

 

***

 

Stiles is lucky he doesn’t have school the next day, because he only gets up at five in the evening. The night before is just a hazy blur in his memory. Hopping out the Jeep, grudging upstairs, stripping off his jeans and then flopping into bed.

But now Stiles wakes up to his phone blaring out Wolf Call. 

_Scott_

 

Stiles fumbles for it, swiping to answer and letting out a mumbled “Mmmf, ‘eyo?”

“Hey buddy, you awake?”

Stiles lets out a probably unintelligible noise, hoping Scott will interpret it through their brotherly bond.

“Aha, okay then. Listen, so Deaton called up and said you had some stuff to tell me and Derek. I’ll be meeting him at the loft in a few of hours if you want to join us?”

“Yeah,” Stiles hums, trying to keep his eyes open, “I can- uh, yeah,”

“Great! I’m about to take Theo to the preserve right now, but I can pick you up after that?”

“Theo?” Stiles snaps awake, “Why’s _Theo_ coming?”

“Oh, he’s not,” Scott says, “Lydia and Braeden are going to show him the Nematon. afterwards. I’d do it, but I think this is a little more urgent,”

“Yeah,” Stiles agrees, still a little unsure, “So, no Theo?”

“No Theo,” Scott affirms.

“No Braeden either?”

“I don’t think so,”

“Just you, me and Derek?”

“Just us,”

Stiles lets a smile flood his face. The three musketeers, back to it again. He can’ remember the last time they had their own get-together. Must’ve been years ago. Maybe they should relish it while they still can. Derek’s TV’s big enough, Stiles can bring the Star Wars collection, Scott can get popcorn and pizza. They could stay up late, no newbies disturbing them. It all sounds so simple…

 

“Stiles? Stiles, dude, you there? Fuck, is this broken again? I knew I shouldn’t have dropped it in the toilet,”

Stiles jerks out of his daze, “No, no, Scotty- I’m here, I’m here,”

“You are? Good, so I’ll see you soon, yeah?”

“Definitely,” Stiles confirms, “But bring popcorn or something, we can have a movie night,”

“Just the three of us?” Scott asks, sounding confused, “But won’t that be awkward?”

“No! Of course not,” Stiles exclaims, “Why would it be awkward?”

“Because,” Scott footers around on the other end of the phone, “It’s _Derek_. You know how weird he gets at this stuff,”

“It’s been so long since we had a night to ourselves,” Stiles moans, “I miss it,”

“Stiles,” Scott reprimands, “We’ve _never_ had a night, with the three of us. Like, EVER,”

Stiles pauses, “We’ve not?”

“Nope, not unless I’ve lost a certain part of my memory over the last three years,”

“Oh,” Stiles mutters.

“But dude,” Scott suddenly chirps, “That doesn’t mean we can’t have one today! I’ll call Derek, and you get the movies,”

“Really?” Stiles tries not to seem to pleased, “You don’t mind?”

“Bro,” Scott laughs, “Why would I mind? It sounds fun,”

 

 _Fun_ , Stiles thinks, as he hangs up the phone.

He hasn’t really done anything particularly ‘fun’ lately. Free time is not a luxury he possesses. At all. Stiles is lucky if he gets a chance to jerk off once in the day. His times is taken up by thinking. 

Which is strange because that’s literally second nature to Stiles. His problem is he doesn’t know how to stop. How do you stop worrying, stop wondering? How does a person stop themselves from wishing that it could all just be over? Stiles spends ages day in and day out, wishing he was someplace else. Anywhere, reality or fantasy. Dead or alive. 

 

It’s not hard wishing you weren’t in Beacon Hills. It’s not easy forgetting the things you’ve done.

 

Stiles looks down at the phone still in his hand. Maybe he can forget, even if it’s for only one night. Scott, Derek and Stiles all have baggage, some heavier than others. It weighs them down, slows their movements. An evening away will do them good.

 

Or at least that’s what Stiles tells himself.

 

***

 

At precisely eight, Stiles opens the door to the loft. He usually respects privacy and knocks, especially with the entire pack around. But the pack’s not here right now. And Derek knows Stiles is coming.

 

He sees Scott lounging on Derek’s usual armchair, looking sufficiently smug with himself. A small can of beer rests in his hand, and Stiles can only imagine Scott playing the alpha card with Derek, forcing him to supply alcohol to an underaged citizen. Really, Stiles loves the pack dynamics they roll with.

“Hey bro,” Stiles walks up, pumping fists with Scott.

“How’re you?” Scott asks, settling his arm back.

“Good, good,” Stiles replies, looking around, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

“Oh, good,” Scott nods, peering around as well.

“Yeah,” Stiles bobs his head back, “Tired, though,” he comments.

“Why?” Scott concerns.

“You know,” Stiles gestures vaguely, “School, and- stuff…”

“Oh,”

“Yeah,”

“Cool,”

“You?”

“Uh, yeah, I’m good too,” Scott gives a uncomfortable smile, “Been hanging with Theo,”

“Oh,”

“Yeah,”

“Cool?”

“Yeah,”

 

_Holy fuck what is going on?_

 

Seriously, it’s never been so awkward. Stiles can usually start a conversation with a potted plant. It’s honestly not that hard. Especially when you’ve had a bit to drink. He’s pretty sure he would’ve made out with that cacti and Danny’s party if Lydia hadn’t pulled him away.

This isn’t normal. Things were supposed to be cool. They weren’t meant to be so… _icky_. It was Scott and Stiles. When they were younger, it was scottandstiles. One freaking word. His teachers had to force them apart from waddling into the same toilet cubicles together. They shared breakfasts and beds and bikes and bathtubs. Stiles watched his first porn video with Scott. His first fight was in Scott’s defence, when Jackson made fun of his asthma. Scott threw up on Stiles once, in a marshmallow eating contest. Stiles burnt off his eyebrows in fourth grade. Scott always took Stiles to get him drunk on the anniversary of Claudia Stilinski’s death.

They had been so thick, so close. Sure, Scott was a little dense when it came to things like girls and lacrosse, but who could blame him? Dimples and Katanas can be bait for any guy. But ever since the bite, it had been different. Some days were better than others. Sometimes, Scott came over and they battled it out in Halo for hours, eating nothing but pizza and bags of curly fries. Other times, Stiles only say his best friend in class. Talking to someone else. Granted, being alpha of a mismatch pack had to be hard, with literally only three actual werewolves, and the rest being some other sort of creature. Including human. But that didn’t mean Stiles had to be completely written off. Did it?

 

After two absolutely unbearable minutes of silence, and really awkward foot-to-foot shuffling, Derek comes in, carrying a bowl full of popcorn.

 

“Derek!” both boys exclaim at the same time, before looking at the other uncomfortably.

“Yes?” Derek says, looking confused.

“Uh, just glad to see you,” Stiles chuckles, rubbing his neck. “It’s been a while, eh?”

“You saw me yesterday,” Derek deadpans, setting the bowl onto the coffee table. He takes a seat onto the newly assembled couch, folding his arms across his chest. “Now, are we going to find out about the new girl with strange force field powers, or have you decided to continue to stand in the centre of my living room like a lamppost?”

Eesh, someone’s moody. Stiles winced, before fumbling to take a seat next to Derek.

 

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologises, “I’ll start,”

“Tell us about Melaena,” Scott suggests, “What is she?”

“Well, I was talking to her, and she told me she was an _enti-colarado_ ,”

“You mean encantados,” Derek offers.

“Oh my God, I need to remember that damn word,” Stiles grumbles, “Yeah so, she said she was that?”

“What’s an encantados?” Scott asks, “Isn’t it Mexican food?”

“Yes!” Stiles affirms loudly.

“No,” Derek sighs, rolling his eyes, “It’s an ancient Spanish creature, often found in places like Europe or Latin America,”

“She’s from Brazil,” Stiles remembers.

“That’ll be it,” Derek nods, “Her family will have mots likely originated there, then migrated over here,”

“Nah, she said it’s not in her blood” 

“That can’t be true,” Derek argues, “My mother knew of an encantados family, and we were told if you’re born with it, it will always remain in your family. No matter what or who you reproduce with, you’ll have encantados offspring,”

“Christ, we’re not animals Der,” Stiles countered, “Well, _I’m_ not,” he tried not not giggle. “And how do you even know this much on encantados anyway?”

“Deaton called to give me a heads up. I looked into a few family records and found out about this pack who live down in Mexico,”

 

“Were you close with them?” Scott chips in, not having spoken for a while.

“We knew them well, or at least my mother did. I just remember their children,” Derek looks away, frowning, “I never did like them much. The ones my age were constantly trying to get me and Laura alone. I don’t know what they wanted, but one day my grandma and a huge fight with the leader of their pack, and we never saw them again,”

“Whoah,” Stiles comments, “Do you know why?”

“Probably territory or something,” Derek shrugs, “I never paid attention to things like that,”

“What else on Melaena, Stiles?” Scott pesters.

“Well, she said that she didn’t know what happened on the lacrosse pitch yesterday. I think it was instinct or something,”

“Instinct to protect you?” Scott asks.

“Or instinct to keep something away from you?” Derek adds.

“I- I’m not quite sure,” Stiles mumbles, “I, I don’t really know anymore,”

 

Silence fills the room, and Stiles mentally grimaces at his capability of making a situation incredibly painful with embarrassment. But how does he explain his confusion? How do explain to someone how lost you are? In your own head, that too. Stiles’ life is a literal puzzle right now, and he just doesn’t know how to put it together. Each piece is some form of question. And he can’t find any answers. It’s not easy. It’s never been easy. 

It’s never going to be easy. That’s just how things are meant to be. He needs to have an unsteady road, a rocky path. Because even though Stiles’ll eventually reach his destination, the journey can’t be smooth. That’s too easy. That’s fair.

 

“So,” Derek breaks the quiet, “Anything else?”

“Uh, I think she wants to join the pack?” Stiles braces himself for a shit load of yelling. He gets none. 

“Oh,” Derek says simply, “Do you think that’s a good idea?”

“Um, I’m not sure,” Stiles mutters, shrugging, “She’s nice, at maybe we can learn a little more about her and the angel thing if she joins. But the end decision is up to Scott,” Stiles looks in the direction of his friend, “What do you think?”

“I think it’s a good idea!” Scott beams, surprising Stiles, “She sounds great, and I know you like her,”

“Wait wait,” Derek suddenly frowns, “You never said you two were going out or anything,”

“We’re not,”

“Are you going to be?” 

“Jesus, I don’t know!” Stiles throws his hands in the air, “It’s been a while, and I think she’s cool,”

Derek grumbles something under his breath, turning away.

“Dude, what does it matter anyway? Not be rude, but my love life is none of your concern,”

“Do you really think it’s wise letting Stiles roam around with an enchantress?” Derek asks Scott, ignoring Stiles completely. Typical, leave it to the big bad brooding werewolf to rain on Stiles’ parade. Over protective macho asshole.

Scott’s eyes bulge out of his head, “ _Enchantress_? You never told me she was the angel thing,”

“She’s not, but I the angel’s following her around or something. Maybe it saw Melaena as a fellow devourer and decided to pray on her new friend?”

Derek rolls his eyes, while Scott nods enthusiastically, “Holy shit, you’re right,”

“No he’s not,” Derek protests, angrily, “If you ask me, I think that this Melaena girl is linked right to the ‘angel’. They’re probably _both_ encantados, and they’re _both_ in on this together,”

“Dude, you were okay with her joining the pack like two minutes ago,” Stiles rises onto his feet, looking down at the scowling werewolf.

“That’s before I found out she was your fucking girlfriend, Stiles!” Derek’s voice raises slightly, and Stiles can feel his temper rising along with it.

“Uh, guys…?” Scott tries to interject, but Stiles pays him no attention.

“She’s not my girlfriend! And even is she is, _so what_!?”

“So everything! That just proves she’s trying to lure you in, to giving her what she wants. And what she wants is to be in the pack!” Derek stands up, so he’s now nose to nose with Stiles.

“Or maybe she just likes me! She hasn’t even mentioned joining the pack. I came up with the idea!” Stiles yells.

“Gu-uys,” Scott tries again.

“It’s a shit idea, and I don’t trust her,” Derek growls, inching slightly closer to Stiles.

“YOU”VE NEVER EVEN MET HER!”

“And I’ll never have to! Because if she’s in the pack, I’m out!”

“You’re being so fucking irrational Derek!” Stiles shouts, shoving the werewolf hard in the chest. Derek latches onto his wrists, and looms into his face.

“Irrational, is inviting a person you have known for _five fucking minutes_ , into your pack,” Derek whispers harshly, breath heady when Stiles inhales.

“Why won’t you just give her a try?” 

“Because I know it won’t end well!”

“You don’t know anything, you stubborn-ass douche! Christ, and I thought you were smart,” Stiles mutters, tugging his arms back. Derek lets them go, crossing his own against his chest.

“Fine,” Derek snarls, “I’ll meet her. With you. And if you can prove she’s sunshine and lollipops, like you really believe she is, I’ll vote yes for letting her in the pack,”

“ _Thank_ you,” Stiles huffs, flopping back down on the couch. He feels a dip as Derek sits back down next to him. Stiles turns to face him, raising his eyebrows, “So we cool?”

“Yeah,” Derek sighs, rubbing a hand over his face, “We’re cool,”

“Good,”

 

“Uhhh,”

Stiles looks over at Scott, who’s gawking at them with a perplexed look.

“Yeah?”

“What even… never mind. I don’t wanna know,” Scott says, shaking his head, “Hu, okay, so now that that’s sorted, are we getting started with this movie night?”

“I’m in,” Stiles states. He peers up at Derek, “What about you, Der?”

Derek frowns questioningly at Stiles, before shrugging, “Put the disk in,”

“Oh, okay!” Scott fumbles over to TV, opening and closing cases, trying to find the right movie.

Stiles keeps his watch on Derek though, analysing his stony face. His mouth isn’t exactly set into a frown, but Stiles can notice the troubled down turn of his lips. He’s almost clenching his teeth subconsciously, and Stiles can only make it out because of the short distance he’s settled at. His eyes roam over to Derek’s, which are currently lost in another wold. Stiles knows that the dude’s good looking, (to other people), but he can now see some particular beauty in Derek’s face. Like the colours in his eyes. The mixes of green, brown, blue, millions of different hues merging into the deep depths of Derek. A little like the sea. Yeah, that’s it. The sea.

Stiles can feel that weird clenching in his stomach again, like an elastic band wrapping around his torso. His breathing gets a little uneasy, like he’s struggling to keep it together.

 

“Hey,” Stiles whispers, after a few minutes of silence. Well, silence and Scott grumbling about the CD player.

Derek looks to him, “Yeah?”

“I, I didn’t mean to yell,” Stiles bites his lip, “I’m sorry,”

For a  split second, Stiles  swears he sees Derek’s eyes dart down to his mouth, but they’re back up before he can properly catch anything.

“It’s fine,” Derek says softly, leaning in, “I’m just worried,”

“Worried of what? Nothing’s going to happen,”

“You say that, but-” Derek shakes his head, “I can’t explain it. Not now at least,”

“What’s there to explain?”

“So much, Stiles,” Derek responds, “So much,”

 

“Okay! I think it’s working,” Scott bursts in, leaping back from the TV and onto the armchair, “Hey guys, if I fall asleep , please don’t kill me,”

 

Stiles quickly pulls away from Derek, settling back into his own space. He can feel their arms gently brushing next to each other, and the weight of Derek’s knee against his.

This is good. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. It’s relaxed. There’re no troubles. Not in this moment.

 

It’s just Stiles, Star Wars, and the sound of Derek breathing.

 

Stiles falls asleep halfway through the second movie.

 

***

 

The first thing he notices is the laugh. It’s that same cruel laugh. The one that echoes throughout Stiles’ ears, crawling into his mind and screaming. 

Then it’s the dark, enclosed space of the locker. The locker that he always remains in, that he never leaves. He’s trapped, trapped inside his own head and he can’t escape.

 

“ _What’s wrong now, Sssstilessss?_ ” the harsh whisper from the Nogitsune comes somewhere outside, “ _Sssstuck, again_?” Stiles closes his eyes, refusing to be captured by a nightmare again.

“Let me out,” Stiles orders, balling his hands into fists, “Let me out,”

“I can’t do that,” the Nogitsune snarls, his voice closer than before, “I don’t have any scissors,”

 _Scissors_?

Opening his eyes, Stiles sees that he’s no longer in the confinement of the locker, but now bound to a chair with thick rope. Hands wrists are scared together, as are his legs. Stiles tugs at them, but he hears a tutting. 

“Do not try that Stiles,” Melaena advises, “The more you struggle, the closer they get to the flames,”

 

Stiles darts his head up, to see Melaena’s big brown eyes gazing dolefully back at him. 

“What do you-”

A screeching interrupts him. He peers round, unable to catch sight of anyone, or anything.

“Who is that?” Stiles yells over the shriek, “Melaena, who’s screaming?”

“Who do you think, Stiles?” she shouts back, “Who screams, huh? Who screams at all the boys?”

Suddenly, from Stiles’ peripheral, he catches a flash of red. Turning his head as far clockwise as he can, Stiles watches in horror as flames surround Lydia. She’s perched high on a stake of sorts, screaming and writhing for all she’s worth. 

“Lydia!” Stiles yells, “Fuck, holy-”

A deep roar cuts him off, and now next to Lydia is Scott. His fangs are out, his eyes glowing a bright red. Fire now inches closer to both of them, barely a meter away from devouring the two.

“Look at what’s happening Stiles,” Melaena calls out, “Look at what you’re doing to your friends. Look at what you’re doing,” she pauses, smiling sadly, “To _him_ ,”

 

This time, there is no roar. No scream. No one shouts or cries. The quietness of the noise id deafening, and for some reason, alerts Stiles more than the others. 

Because in a whisper so fearful, he can hear, “Stiles,”

 

He knows it’s him. He knows he’s going to see Derek chained to the wooden post. He doesn’t want to look at the anguish in his eyes, see the fear as memories of fire enclose him again. Stiles can’t watch as he ruins his life over and over again. 

“Please,” Stiles squeezes his eyes shut, desperately trying to to look, “Please, just stop this,” he begs.

“I’m not doing anything Stiles,” Melaena laughs bitterly, “It’s all you. I _can’t_ do anything. Only you. You’re doing this. You’re killing him,”

“ _Please! Please just stop_!” Stiles pleads, feeling his shut eyes water.

“I can’t”

“ _PLEASE_!” Stiles cries out, tears leaking out of his body, “ _PLEASE JUST STOP! MAKE IT STOP, PLEASE,”_

The laughing continues, as sobs wrack Stiles’ body. He can now feel the heat of the flames. The burning smell scorching his nose.

“Please,” Stiles whimpers, feeling the life drain out of him. His shoulders sag, as the heat soon gets closer, heavier. He can feel it shaking him, wrapping itself around him, calling his name.

“Stiles!”

“Please stop,” Stiles sobs, curling in on himself.

 

“Stiles, listen, wake up, okay,”

The heat holds him close, and Stiles can feel his face resting into a padded chest. He stops shaking, keeping stiff and still.

“Stiles, Stiles are you okay?”

Stiles doesn’t move.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It was a dream, Stiles, it’s not real,”

Stiles feels arms holding him close, rubbing up and down his back.

“You’re safe now, you’re okay,”

Stiles tries not to shiver, because once again, he knows who’s arms these belong to. He knows who isn’t going to let go..

“You’re safe, you’re with me,”

“I know,” Stiles whispers, clutching Derek’s shirt. Because he does. Stiles does know. He can feel the man relax a little, and assumes it’s because he replied. Derek grips him tighter, and Stiles buries his face into the crook of Derek’s neck. He inhales deep, smelling sandalwood and cinnamon. Stubble tickles his cheek, and Derek keeps on whispering reassurance into Stiles’ ear.

“You’re okay, it was all a dream. I’m here,”

 

He tries so hard to believe it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> KUDOS AND COMMENT WILL BE FORVER WELCOME!
> 
> I HOPE YOU LIKED IT HELIUM PROTONS!

**Author's Note:**

> Wanna come over and tumblr? http://rogue-wizard.tumblr.com


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